The Best Deceptions
by ZanNaz
Summary: It's been eight long years since Chuck Bass laid eyes on Blair Waldorf. What will happen when they meet again, how have things changed in the years since they last saw each other and what caused them to part?
1. Fell in love without you

Disclaimer:I don't own gossip girl, just the specific story I choose to bring the characters into.

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_It's nothing but time and a face that you loose. I chose to feel it and you couldn't choose;  
I'll write you a postcard, I'll send you the news, from the house down the road  
from real love.  
-- Stars_

**Chapter One:  
**

He stood in the wing, staring intently at the profile of the aged man as he spoke; Chuck counted in binary in his head. The only sound audible to him was the squeak of the lint catcher as his assistant nervously rolled it up the lapels of his Gucci suit with an unstable arm.

"And now, the man of the hour … Charles Bass, ladies and gentlemen" Chuck quickly swallowed the remnants of his scotch, wincing as the amber liquid burnt a trail down his throat and briskly strode to the podium, firmly shaking the age spotted hands of the host before turning his attention to the glare of the spotlight.

"Good evening," He began, the trademark Bass smirk tugging at the edges of his lips as the buzz and flash of photographers and camera's filled the air "I'm so glad that you've all come out in support of this cause." His chocolate eyes lightly scanning the seated audience as he continued, "On behalf of Bass Industries I'd like to present the New York Metropolitan Aquarium with a check for one-hundred thousand dollars as a donation to their 'Save the Whales Foundation' for further research and development." The rumbling applause did little to drown out the snaps and flashes of the cameras as a slew of field workers and managers filed onstage for the obligatory photo-op while Chuck, with practiced expertise, obliged and smiled warmly for the media.

It didn't take long to politely meander from conversation to conversation, topics ranging from business, to family and finally rounding off ironically on the subject of golf. Predictable, tiresome, conversation he had upheld while maintaining a feigned sense of keen interest. All the while his eyes searched for a particular shadow amongst the elite, the one thing aside from work that he had bound himself to, with mute distaste at first, which had translated over the years into arbitrary lust.

Finally breaking free of the social circuit, he eagerly made a break for the bar, loosening his bowtie slightly as he walked. Every now and then he would have to stifle a laugh at the air of importance and purity put off by such people who made up for their scandals it seemed, by spending money and flashing diamonds. The wives could very well have been the daughters of the men they had married, and although these facts and occurrences were routine considering the riches and social standings (not that Chuck could warrant an argument that he was unlike them) every now and then one had to admire the humor in how desperately secrets were concealed and images untarnished by time through carefully constructed blockades of truth.

Taking a seat, he waved down a bartender, fingers tapping on the smooth oak of the bar as he waited. He heard the soft crunch of leather a few minutes later as someone took a seat beside him. His nostrils filling with the tasteful sent of lilac perfume as it assaulted his senses and stirred the sleeping lust in his eyes. Slowly, Chuck attempted to gather his wandering reserve back, cautiously keeping an eye on the glass of alcohol as it was placed in front of him. The orchestra played softly in the background; diligently he ignored the automatic tensing of his muscles, feeling the burn of eyes on his skin as he listened to the crescendo.

"Chuck?" Her voice floated to his ears in the form of a question, as the familiarity of the woman's voice bluntly landed on him. This time his muscles tensed and his breath quickened as a million memories suspended themselves above him and pushed eagerly at his previous ignorance. He turned slowly towards her, struggling between wanting to both prolong the moment and fast-forward through it. _It was only a matter of time_ he reminded himself as his guarded eyes met her warm gaze.

He pulled a hand through his auburn hair as he drank sections of her in, careful not to linger too long on the black dress that clung to her curves and gave way to long, muscular legs. Her hair was slightly shorter than the last time he had seen her, reaching only to her shoulders at best. A singular golden chain roped around her bare neck, a ruby in the center that gleamed under the harsh light of the banquet hall. His eyes stopped on her hands, extended on her lap, elbows at her waistline. He had forgotten how to breathe.

"Blair," her name was salty sweet on his tongue "it's been a while."

She smiled pearly white teeth behind rouge lips, lips he had kissed feverishly and lipstick color he had smudged with the gentle stroke of his thumb. Chuck allowed the barrage of unspoken words to sustain his emotion. In an attempt to harness some of the raw energy that had built itself upon the moment, he encircled the top of his glass with a pinkie finger.

"It has ..." She said, her eyes smoldering as she took a small sip of a fresh martini.

A million words were caught on the roof his mouth, things he wanted to say, dreamt of saying, things he needed to tell her, but instead opting to grab hold of another subject, something riveting enough to draw himself away from the strong pull of truth that simmered on his lips.

"I wouldn't expect for you to be here Waldorf, I didn't know you cared so much about the Aquarium," his tone held a lightness to it in attempt to distract from the burden of forgotten moments as he continued, "I didn't see you on the guest list either."

She looked down and away for a moment, the yellow cashmere shawl dipping past her collarbone.

"I was running late," she explained "and I came with my husband; it's Blair Hutlen now."

Chuck nodded as he forced an unidentifiable emotion back down his throat taking in this new information with interest. Specifically the lack of a hyphen which Chuck had always figured was the type of approach Blair would take to the exchanging of a maiden name in place of the grooms.

The honesty of the moment and the slight embarrassment at two former lovers, who had in fact loved each other with deep gut wrenching strength, brought forth the action of stepping around the intimacy of their acquaintance with clumsy feet as they sat not two and a half feet from each other.

He was filled immediately with curiosity, his eyes falling once more on that which appeared to be a solid three carat princess cut diamond, his knowledge spanning little past that assessment if it was even a correct one at that.

"Wow" he maintained a cool tone as he spoke, his hands balled into fists inside his suit pockets, "That's great."

"It is "she answered, her eyes trained on the counter as she spoke."He's the head researcher at the foundation." With little prompting a pressing question had forced its way into Chuck's head as he combed through the faces of the men he had shaken hands with onstage, the uncontrollable desire to know the face of the man who had taken up loving her just as she had learned to stop loving Chuck.

He noticed she looked tired, worn out; there were slight bags under her eyes from too much work he wondered. Was she a designer? Did she finally manage to break free of her mother's rule? Did she still talk to Serena? Did Nate still talk to her and keep it a secret from him out of some kind of unspoken rule formulated the moment news of the breakup had hit everyone else via gossip girl? Come to think of it this seemed plausible. No doubt they still ran in the same social circles but there existed a barrier now, one built by time that Chuck was not surprised in the least to recognize. He had heard very little of her over the years and the knowledge of Blair Waldorf's life got smaller naturally, as if she had moved out of his reality all at once, the gaping hole filled gradually by other things.

"What about you?" She breathed, shaking off the silence and turning to face him once more as she took another longer sip of her drink "Still the head of Bass Industries, no bankruptcy yet I see," she laughed but it didn't reach her eyes. It looked as if the tension had finally barred down on her, as if she had suddenly become uncomfortable about addressing what was different about the man she had devoted herself to in times past.

"It's only my pride and joy if you can believe that," there was a pause in which he debated allowing further perspective into his life or stopping short at workaholic tendencies "We both took the jump" He gestured subtly to his wedding ring as if to assure her that there was no harbored feelings or mis-intentions, that she didn't want him to have, in his eyes. It was a battle of emotion and they both stood on uncertain ground, lacking words to ward off the voids, and so there was no fight left to be won or dealt with. All the armor needed to keep at bay had been coddling their ring fingers like precious jewels, a swift exit past awkward sighs and choppy words.

Her eyes widened in disbelief, he had become used to the reaction by now. In the two years following his marriage he had likened breaking the news to old friends and family like telling someone their preferred brand of ice cream really was not the flavor they had known it to be all the years they had searched it out and enjoyed it. Not to be misguiding, his muscles still tensed slightly at the sight of a beautiful women, a smirk still finding its way onto his lips as any attractive woman would look him over with desire, but he controlled it in a way he previously never thought could be possible. Channeling it instead into the expansion of his business in every possible way which left him wondrous nights alone at the office mulling over idea's and papers with mussed hair and a crumpled suit from hours of concentration.

"W-wow Bass, really?" She stuttered, crossing her legs as she softly touched his shoulder "that's ... amazing, fantastic. Marriage ..." She tilted her head as if searching for the right explanation, "Congratulations."

Chuck's shoulder was pulsing as her hand remained where she had placed it, her eyes looking into his a little too closely. She was scrutinizing and processing this information as gracefully as the Blair Waldorf he knew could have. And for a few moments he imagined breathing her in, capturing her in his flesh, inhaling her scent greedily as he fantasized. They were both guarding themselves, watching their words and actions, and yet a piece of the man and woman they were together had slipped past Blair's watch and presented itself in the form of a seemingly innocent gesture.

She dropped her hand and coughed lightly, restlessness in her movements as she made them.

"Well I have to go find Mark now," She said while re-adjusting her shawl, "It was amazing seeing you, we should do it again sometime."

Chuck nodded in agreement, grabbing his drink and standing, awaiting her departure into the crowd of drinking and dancing peers.

"Lunch maybe?" It was a question, such a question that caused shivers down Chuck's spine. He could end it, ignore that it had been said, walk in the opposite direction and curl up at home with the image of her as she was in the moment lulling him to sleep.

"You know where to find me," He responded as she smiled again, pulling him into a loose hug, mindful of the drinks.

It was true; she still knew how to find him, granted she had always known.

And he prayed that she would, as he watched her disappear into the crowd.

* * *

Blair realized her heart had stopped beating the second he released her from his intense gaze and she had stumbled in the direction, any direction, away from Chuck Bass. She rushed for a dark corner, counting her breaths as she took them, trying to combat the fervor with soft calm. He was not the same man and she was not the same woman and yet she still forgot how to breathe, how to move, how to think, whenever he was around, even after all that time.

She gathered her thoughts as she searched for Mark, hoping that the flush in her cheeks and the pace of her thoughts would slow as she looked. She found him on the other side of the banquet hall, talking to another couple, no doubt impressing them with one of his many anecdotes causing peals of laughter to erupt as he rolled back on his heels in triumph. She appeared beside him quietly, grabbing hold of his hand as she stood. His blue eyes caught hers briefly, his grin expanding with her presence.

"Mr. and Mrs. Rulyen, May I introduce my wife Blair," Two pairs of eyes trained on her a small eternity before Mrs. Rulyen spoke "Well Mark, she's beautiful"

"Absolutely gorgeous," Mr. Rulyen added in the way that husbands and wife's finished each other's sentences and thoughts without a second thought.

"Thank you" she exclaimed, feeling the blush re-surface. The unexpected encounter with Chuck had worn down her guard and left her feeling larky and tiresome as Mark checked his Rolex and sighed "We should probably get going" He stated into the stuffy air "The twins will want us to be there when Dorota puts them to bed."

Mr. and Mrs. Rulyen's eyes lit at the mention of children, "Twins?" Mrs. Rulyen inquired.

The subject of their children was a source of great pride normally, but under the same roof as Chuck Bass Blair found more use of swallowing her secrets and biting her lip than gushing to the Rulyens about the absolute perfection of her offspring in case he should emerge from some unseen corner.

_Stop it,_ she scolded herself, _you're being utterly stupid. _

"Henry and Tula" Mark beamed, squeezing his wife's hand.

"Sweet sweet names," Mrs. Rulyen complimented.

Blair twitched with laughter.

"All thanks to their mother, I'm afraid I'm no good at names" he admitted, sipping at his champagne.

As if they had known each other for a number of years rather than twenty five minutes, Mrs. Rulyen remarked with fondness in her tone "Just like my Bob, why if he had, had his way my children would be named after vegetables!"

Bob Ruylen laughed, Blair assumed, at the truth in this statement. Although to be fair, she had the names of her babies long before she gave birth to them, nothing could have changed her mind in the slightest. Of all the things she was accepting of in those moments as they placed her newborn children into her arms - a name debate was not one of them. And so, in honesty, Mark could have been fantastic at naming children, even if he was of male gender.

"How old are they?" Mrs. Ruylen continued as her husband waved down another glass of bubbly for his wife.

"They're eight," Blair answered.

"We have grandchildren that are about that age, oh what a wonderful age it is."

"It really is" she agreed with a smile, "it really is."

Mark leaned over, whispering softly in her ear "It's almost 7:30, whadya say we blow this pop stand?"

She stood on her tiptoes, answering him with the soft collision of their warm, wet lips.

"Well it seems we need to be heading out now..."

"Oh yes, it was nice meeting you" The Ruylen's exclaimed.

"You too" Blair giggled; as she turned and started towards the entrance with Mark "Have a good night!" she called behind her shoulder.

* * *

Two lace adorned hands reached around and covered Chuck's eyes "Guess who" she purred, moving to take a seat next to him once he had guessed correctly.

"I thought you weren't coming," he questioned, seeing as she'd brought up mention of some business dinner she would have to attend on exactly the same night of the charity event.

"I skipped out early Mr. Bass and came to find you."

His irritation dissolved as a cold finger trailed his bottom lip.

"Abby I'm trying to stay mad at you ..." he growled, biting at her playfully, as his eyes slid down her form fitting red dress in appreciation.

"But you can't so give it up" She hummed in his ear.

The droplet diamond fastened to her neck was distracting and he had been stuck all day inside the board room arguing, convincing, and planning, he felt himself yearn for a break in activity where words were not needed.

Abigail's blonde hair was fastened with bobby pins to the back of her head in a messy bun, tendrils framing her tanned face as she inched closer to Chuck, walking two fingers past the spot on his shoulder that still burnt with another woman's touch.

"Let's get out of here" she whined, eliciting a loud sigh for show.

Chuck grabbed her hand and stood up as she slid her hand through the crook of his elbow. He said the necessary good-byes as they swiftly exited the hall, eyes scanning past the red carpet and sea of black limo's for their own.

His breath caught on the cold air as he saw her.

_Blair._

She ducked into a limo, a secure hand placed on the small of her back. His eyes remained glued to the scene, willing a glimpse at his face to satisfy the blank of her husband's identity. If he could hold onto nothing more, he wanted to be able to hold onto that. The man that signified a love Chuck did not prompt or want to acknowledge. The first person he knew that had probably driven her from the darkness of their breakup and into the light of a crisp and trusting relationship.

He had dark brown hair, much like Chuck's, and as if an answer to his prayer, the man turned, his eyes, boldly blue, his mouth pale pink, he drew a sharp breath before sliding in beside Blair and closing the door.

Hutlen.

Mark Hutlen, if Chuck remembered the night's introductions correctly.

* * *

They made their way up the stairs to the brownstone quietly, his lips on the bare of her neck as they moved. Laughter as silent as could be managed given the ebullience that surrounded them.

Upon unlocking the door, Blair took off her heels and placed them on the hardwood, padding up the stairs and into their bedroom; where she removed her shawl and put away her clutch. Mark retreated to the kitchen in search of food.

She had missed her babies all night long; it was difficult watching them grow up. In so many ways it seemed like the momentous event of their birth was still yesterday instead of almost nine years previous. It made her feel older but it had also instilled in her selflessness and a love she had never known before.

"Mommy?" Tula called groggily, stepping out from behind the doorframe, teddy bear in tow. Blair opened her arms and lifted her daughter into the air, placing her naturally on her hip with a grin as Tula's bubbling laughter filled the silence.

"Hi baby, how was your night?"

"It was good, Dorota let us eat cookies and Henry ate so many he burped, and guess what mommy!" all traces of exhaustion from her voice as she filled her mother in on the night's happenings at home.

"What?" Blair questioned softly.

"He didn't even say excuse me!"

Blair gasped, "oh no" she jokingly remarked "I hope you reminded him Tula"

"I did! I said 'mommy said to say excuse me' and Dorota agreed and so he did."

"Phew," Blair exclaimed, wiping the feigned sweat from her brow as she headed towards her daughters room, "Thank goodness."

She pressed cold lips to her daughter's warm forehead as Tula grinned in satisfaction at her good deed.

Blair entered the pink room and carefully placed her daughter on the comforter climbing in beside her as she lay down. Her little girl curling into a ball against her stomach as she fell asleep, teddy tucked in on the other side "Where's daddy?"

"He'll be up in a minute, go to sleep, I love you baby girl"

"I love you too mommy" Tula yawned and closed her eyes once more.

Blair did not allow the thought of Chuck Bass to enter her head while she stroked her daughters chocolate curls, the image of him did not fit in her Brooklyn brownstone or in her life anymore, she repeated to herself.

She passed Mark exiting Henry's room, catching his lips for a second before venturing into her son's room where she tucked him in and placed a whispering kiss on his forehead, careful not to jostle the bed, she returned to the hallway.

* * *

She fell into bed, listening to the rush of water and gurgle of mouthwash as Mark brushed his teeth in the adjoining bathroom.

Her thoughts wandered as they usually did, towards her twins. Tula had beautiful softly curled brown hair while Henry's was cut short in the typical boy fashion. Their brown eyes were always warm and questioning never judgmental. They both had the porcelain complexion of their mother and her plump lips, Blair was wary of attaching any resemblance of their father to the twins and most days this was an easy enough task, even though she had begun to turn a blind eye towards the similarities the first day that Tula had flashed that infamous smirk on her tiny lips at ten months and every day since either of them had wanted anything badly enough.

No, Henry Charles and Tula Victrola were all her own, they had been practically since conception.

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**A/N:** Hello hello! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. What do you think, should I continue onwards? Reviews are greatly appreciated but if you don't have the time I'd like to thank you for the read!


	2. So here we are

Disclaimer:I don't own gossip girl, just the specific story I choose to bring the characters into

A/N: Omygosh! Thanks for such a great response I'm glad you guys are reading this and liking it. A million thanks to everyone who subscribed and reviewed ;D MAJOR props to my wonderful beta **kate2008.** Happy reading!

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_And I know I've said all this so that you've heard it all before  
the trick is getting you to think that all this is your idea.  
-- Paramore_

**Chapter Two:**

Blair fixed her eyes on the rise and fall of Mark's chest, his breathing was low and in perfect rhythm with her own. With a glance at the clock she stretched and sat up, the cool night air whirling around the room as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. She was always filled with decisions and lists, plans and places to be that she tilted her head to the side, wishing only to empty it a little.

Squares of light crawled across the hardwood as cars passed on the street below. The occasional conversation floated through the open window – the familiar soundtrack of her beloved New York.

She scanned the room, her eyes adjusting to the shadows as she stood up and started down the hallway. The floorboards creaked with the weight of her feet as she treaded down the hallway as quietly as possible.

The movements she made were simple and skirted on second-nature as she reached for the kettle, filling it with water and placing it on the stove. A worrisome sigh elicited from her lips as she leaned against the counter, staring into the distance.

When her stomach had been heavy with Tula and Henry, her feet swollen and sore, her nights had been spent sitting in the same kitchen, in the same house on the same street. More often then not she sipped green tea on those nights and marvelled at the feeling of her children's feet kicking her from the inside.

Mark had stayed up with her then, cradling her tired body in his arms as he kissed her matted hair in reverence. They would talk through the hours she couldn't sleep – of the future and their children. Sometimes it took forever but eventually she would relax and fall asleep, leaning into his shoulder and drooling on his pyjamas. He would curl her up then and carry her up the stairs and into bed.

Whenever Blair found herself bogged down with responsibility and weighed with thoughts, she would make her way down to the kitchen – upholding the same actions that soon became tradition. A cup of tea to be prepared as she thought over invitations and recitals, classes and finances until the anxiety drained from her schedule and calm beckoned her back to sleep.

It had become a valued ritual as change began to occur so often that it appeared to be the only constant. Her days were spent under the pressure of being Blair Hutlen. The blithe of one's college years faded with an adoration for her babies as she watched them grow.

All she could think of was the hatred that Mark would surely feel if he knew. He would despise her to the core, her best friend, her lover and he would diffuse the life they had built together. Everything they had created would be broken down to the lie it had been formed on, ever memory burnt with a rueful stare. She couldn't even bare to think it.

The secrets she kept were better hidden than exposed - she knew this, and there was nothing worth jeopardizing the life she had now. She tried not to think of the past – thankfully there was almost always something better to do than remember an old lover.

Steam poured out of the spout as the kettle whistled and she swiftly cut the distance in a matter of seconds. The kettle was placed on a cold element and Blair, ever thankful for the distraction, went about preparing her tea.

She raised her hand to the light, watching the diamonds on her wedding band glitter in the light. No, she was not a Waldorf anymore, nor was she a teenager. With this affirmation Chuck's face appeared, Tula's smirk was in the curve of his lips, the sparkle of Henry's eyes in his. She found that his image was the same it had been the night of the charity ball.

The eyes of Henry's father pleaded with her, appealing to the weak spot in her reserve. Chuck asked for her to unlock the memories, to allow them to fall on top of her with the increased weight of forgotten time.

And so, as she did once a year, Blair leaned against the counter waiting for burning emptiness to fill her to the brim.

_October. 4th, 2011:_

"Anyway _Malcolm," distaste evident as his name rolled off her tongue "What's your major?"_

_Blair's eyes narrowed as Serena opened her mouth, prepared to say something if he came up short. She watched as he shifted uncomfortably, picking at the salad in front of him for a moment too long. Serena frowned, upset at the contempt in Blair's tone and her best friend's obvious neglect for kindness._

_She rolled her eyes. Forgive me, she mouthed silently above his gaze, it's not my fault you have zero taste in men. _

_Malcolm was nothing more than the cookie-cutter definition of a "struggling artist." His skinny body was covered in flannel and skinny jeans, an activist of some sort. So far he had spent the better part of lunch preaching about insouciant topics that barely managed to reach Blair's ears._

_She had only agreed to meet Serena's "Providence boyfriend" under the argument that things were turning serious between the two of them. And it was particularly understood during recent conversations that the torment of a "meet-and-greet" was eminent at the pace in which Serena swore the relationship was progressing._

_Whatever, better earlier than latter she had mused, showing up only to find them huddled together on the patio. The smacking of their lips as they kissed was so loud that she wondered if they were trying to devour each other's faces – rather than trying to kiss._

_It was disgusting and entirely inappropriate and as dreaded as the meal had been in theory, it was even more unbearable in practice. _

"_Art history." She blinked, was he for real?_

"_What do you plan to do you really plan to do with that?"_

"_Actually," he scanned the other tables with his green eyes, careful not to rest his attention on Blair for too long, "I'm really not sure yet."_

_Serena swatted his arm with a grin, "Don't be silly!__ He wants to be a teacher B." _

"_Oh?" She feigned interest, her eyes glued to his movements as he squirmed under the intensity of her gaze._

_Malcolm turned, breathing into Serena's cheek for a moment before answering, "I'm thinking about it but nothing's definite right now."_

_Blair narrowed her eyes and raised her hands, gesturing in circles and lines. "__Your glasses are so … so … circa 1976."_

"_Blair –"It was uttered as a warning, a stop sign, a breath of cautious anticipation._

_The warning went un-noticed; Blair licked her lips and opened her mouth, "do you have any idea what those glasses say about you?" _

"_N-no?"_

"_Well," she drew the word out, turning her head towards the grey clouds, "they say that you're from Providence, that you wear Birkenstocks in your spare time and that you're utterly hopeless."_

_The moment was then interrupted by the discordant ring of Blair's cell phone._

_It was plucked from the table without so much as a secondary glance before being thrown into her purse with exaggerated force._

_Serena leaned forward with curiosity, "__Who was it B?" _

"_No one" Blair retorted, lifting a glass of red wine to her lips. _

_Serena mouthed something into Malcolm's ear quickly, brushing a gentle kiss to his cheek. He smiled meekly at Blair, stood up and scurried into the street, grateful for the meals abrupt ending. _

_Blair removed the wine glass slowly from her lips, gratitude in the apples of her cheeks as she set the glass on the tablecloth. For the torturous hour of introduction had been cut short by none other than its orchestrator. _

"_Why is he leaving?"_

"_I sent him to Lily's."_

"_Why is he leaving" She repeated with irritation. It was only seconds after that Malcolm's departure that she had come to remember what being alone without distraction in front of her best friend was - a formula for direct and unguarded conversation. _

_Serena folded her hands in her lap, "__You are obviously angry and taking it out on the innocent B, you were just tearing him to pieces!"_

"_I did no such thing," Blair turned her nose up as if she were dismissing the idea wholly. "Besides, I was simply doing him a favour. I can hardly understand what it is that you see in him anyway."_

"_That's funny - because I could say the exact same thing about Chuck."_

"_The Basshole is an entirely different category. But it's like you've got Humphrey 2.0 in your bed!"_

_Serena's eyes widened, her hair dangerously close to falling in a bowl of tomato soup.__" Whatever, I didn't even ask for your opinion but Malcolm is so far from Dan that it's ridiculous."_

_The conversation had ended, there was no room to condense debate or argument, the air thick with disagreement._

"_Then why pray tell, did you insist on bringing me to this hovel in the middle of Soho to meet him?" Blair was trying feebly to resist the rage that bit at her skin as she swallowed the rest of her wine._

_Serena turned away, "Give it up Blair,__ you're supposed to be my best friend."_

_Blair suddenly felt silly, her fury dissolving with these words as her bitterness was carried away by the breeze._

"_Ugh, I'm not being a good friend am I?" It was mostly rhetorical, "I'm sorry S, I really do apologize. I was doing my best to be civil but when he started talking about picket lines …"__She swallowed a scoff and pulled a strand of hair behind her ear._

_Serena started to shake with the rhythm of silent laughter, her necklace thumping against her collarbone. Chagrin creased Blair's forehead as she looked up, her lips falling into a straight line._

"_Picket -"Serena managed between breaths, raising her face to the sun … "what have I done!?"_

_Blair grinned," My thoughts exactly." She threw a hand over her lips and laughed with Serena at the situation, their hair tangling about them in the brisk October air, reaching for the sky. _

Chuck walked past the front desk, offering a minor smile to the woman who handed him his coffee," Good morning Mr. Bass."

In the middle of the hallway he stopped, tapping his foot against the ground. Erin ran towards him in long strides, several files that threatened to fall apart, in the crook of his arm.

"I got on the wrong-" Erin huffed as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his hands on his knees almost kneeling over, "subway."

Chuck glanced down with one elongated sip of his coffee,"Mmm I see."

"I texted that I was goin-g to be late this morning"

"Do I look like someone who cares?" Chuck gestured to the space between his assistant and him, mere feet apart.

Erin shook his head and Chuck snarled as he followed on his bosses heels, both men making their way to the back of the building with quick steps.

"All that I ask ..." he talked behind his shoulder, "is that you show up and do your job, otherwise you will be replaced and blacklisted."

"It won't happen again s-sir" Erin stuttered.

"Files" Chuck flattened his palm to receive the heave of papers as he unlocked his office door with the other hand.

Everything about the boy irritated him beyond belief. The bundle of red hair atop his head and the freckle spotted face always full of naivety, no matter how many days he spent being someone's lap dog he always remained grateful and enthusiastic. This attitude was one that Chuck had grown to value in his employees with no room for personal vendettas within his company.

"What are you waiting for? Go find me some breakfast Erin." There was a pause in thought as he fought silently with his impulses, "and connect me to Mark Hutlen." He raised a dismissive hand, "Tell him it's regarding his foundation."

"Yes sir."

With that the assistant disappeared and he retreated into his darkened office. The sun was beginning to rise from behind the buildings as he took a seat at his desk, neon rainbows of colour being cast on adjacent buildings.

"Mummy!" Henry capitulated himself into Blair's arms as she sat at the dinning room table. She waited patiently as he shifted into her lap, eyes glued to the newspaper.

"Munchkin!" His hair smelt of strawberries and vanilla, "How did you sleep?"

"Good."

She wrapped her arms tightly around him, looking into his eyes as she brushed strands of hair away from his forehead. He snuggled into the crook of her neck, a yawn escaping his lips.

Placing her glasses on the table she peppered her son's cheeks with benign kisses. It was in these instances that she felt the selfish tugs at her heart. Every day could be spent perfectly content as long as the pitter-patter of her children's feet could be heard, their eyes bright with enthusiasm for another day. She knew that sooner or later she would have to let them grow up, watch them leave for university, but she was always thankful that these things seemed to be within the subject of later rather than sooner.

"Go find Dorota and get dressed alright?" she whispered into his ear as she hoisted him off her lap and onto the ground. "Go find your sister darling and eat this," she handed him the muffin that had sat untouched for the last ten minutes and watched as he ran down the hall with it.

Mark emerged from the opposite end of the kitchen in his best suit, the normal shirt and cotton pyjama's folded away for another day. He walked up to her and draped his arms around her neck from behind, his eyes skimming the article that Blair had been chipping away at all morning. "Hi," he mumbled into her shoulder, lips warm against the silk of her dress. "Guess what, I have a meeting!"

Blair spun around, an uncertain smile on her face. "With?" she couldn't keep the anxiety out of her tone.

He lifted her from the chair, spinning her around in circles, "Chuck – freaking – Bass!" She closed her eyes, feeling bile rise to her throat.

Every thought that came to mind unhinged, rotating on an unbalanced axis and running wildly away from her.

"What about," She cleared her throat, "is something wrong?"

"No no," Mark shook his head, "it's crazy He just called me up a few minutes ago. Something about how he likes to remain active in the foundations he supports. I'm supposed to be on the Upper East Side in twenty-five minutes."

He ran a hand through his hair excitedly, eyes trained on Blair – anticipating her reaction to this happy news.

There were so many emotions, she just needed to think, to be able to catch one, any which one.

He was filled with so much bliss that she imagined it overflowing, pouring generously out of his lips and onto the floor between them.

_Of course_ it was everything that he wanted, everything he _really _needed to establish himself among those who could financially support his cause; everything needed to keep his dream alive.

And there she was, shell shocked and speechless, tongue tied and unable to configure a reasonable answer. It was ridiculous, tedious and very unlike her.

"Oh," She took a seat on the chair, picking at the diamond broach pinned to her dress, "Mark I'm so happy! Wow, it's just fantastic isn't it?"

He grabbed a hold of her hand and bent on his knee reaching to place her palm on his chest right above his heart. He was clearly unable to detect the slight tremor of her voice as she spoke, or otherwise he was mistaking it for what he wanted it to be. Optimism.

"I love you Blair, you know that right?"

She nodded, her gaze falling on Tula and Henry as they raced back each other to the kitchen, backpacks in tow. Mark pressed his lips to hers with brief force before he jumped up to gather the twins in his arms.

"Superman, I love you" he cooed, dropping a kiss on Henry's forehead, "And you too, my little dancing queen." The children beamed happily as their father squished them together.

"Alright," Mark announced, "Have an awesome day at school and I'll see everyone at the recital. Good luck sweet heart!"

"Bye daddy" Tula said, picking up her backpack and skipping over to her mother. The trademark Waldorf headband atop her hair that Dorota had pulled into a neat ponytail.

"Bye daddy" Henry parroted, turning to watch him grab the keys to the range rover, waving as he closed the front door behind him.

"Morning momma," Blair licked her thumb, smudging traces of pancake off Tula's cheek, cupping her daughters chin in her hands, "Good morning, tiny dancer."

Chuck wasn't playing by the rules and he knew it and he really had no idea what he was doing, or why.

He could still smell her perfume if he concentrated long enough, feel her hand in his . . . and it brought forth an ardor so overpowering that it was causing him to act irrationally. That was the only reasoning he could feign behind his action.

After all, she wouldn't have taken up his lunch offer, she would run from him as far away as fast as possible as she had always done. And maybe he was worn of game, of the exuberant ignorance she placed on anything having to do with him.

Or maybe he just wanted to prove that he was a man, a changed man, who made mistakes but had thought about her every second of every hour of every day for the past eight years.

Maybe.

_Maybe not.

* * *

_

**A/N:** Gasp! Thanks for the read. Review if you have some time, I love love feedback ;D


	3. Small victories

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl just the specific story I choose to bring the characters into.

A/N: Once again, thanks thanks thanks everyone + wonderful kate2008. Sorry about those alerts, and now for the new chapter. Happy reading !

* * *

_We deny that we're in denial. We only see what we want to see and believe what we want to believe, and it works. We lie to ourselves so much that after a while the lies start to seem like the truth. We deny so much that we can't recognize the truth right in front of our faces._  
_-- Greys Anatomy_

**Chapter Three:**

"Mr. Bass, there is a Mr. Hutlen – Mark Hutlen, here for you."

"Send him in…" Chuck answered, standing as the door opened and Hutlen walked through the threshold.

"Hello Mr. Bass."

"Good morning Mr. Hutlen please, take a seat" he breathed, resuming position behind his large oak desk.

"Now I'd like to speak to you about an exclusive offer," Mark nodded, shifting nervously, "As you know, Bass Industries is a diverse company. I have been looking for quite some time at charities and nongovernmental organizations that I would feel proud sponsoring." Chuck paused for dramatic effect, watching Mark's face as he absorbed each letter of the words, digesting them with thought. "And I do believe that I may be very interested in investing my company's name in yours."

Mark's eyebrows knitted in apprehension, probably unsure, as any man in his position would be, about what terms and conditions lay behind such a brilliant offer.

"What will I have to compromise?" he questioned after a stretched minute of silence, his voice gruff, "I mean, what part of my work does your company favor? Cut off all the fat right, change practices . . . update facilities and downgrade quality?" His eyes were hard suddenly, a flicker of certitude in the words falling from his mouth passed through them as they turned from blue to a dull grey.

"I can assure you that Bass Industries does not work like that, I value organizational individuality above all else Mr. Hutlen."

He was a man of passion, Chuck reasoned; behind his defensive strategy laid a believer in something other than succumbing to cash handouts. A sensible head on his shoulders, unwilling to bow to companies whom he suspected wished only to change all but the ground his feet stood upon.

The instant tension subsided gradually as a Mark's pale pink lips curved into an animated grin.

"That's good to hear Mr. Bass, please don't misunderstand, I would be grateful for such an opportunity but it's just, as the head of this project, of this cause, I feel an obligation to get things done the proper way with people who feel the same."

"I understand completely" Chuck said, twisting a pen between his thumb and index finger as he leaned into the back of his leather chair.

"Are you married Mark?" the question filled with as much feigned eager curiosity as could be managed although the answer was already known.

"Yes actually, I am" Mark answered warmly, his voice drifting off into a thicket of intimacies that came with the mention of his wife; Chuck suspected, places that he would not want to follow even if he could.

Chuck blinked twice before responding, taking some time to ease the haughtiness out of his words as he spoke them.

"I would be obliged to have you and your wife at my home for dinner tonight," Chuck fixed his eyes on Mark's wedding band "It's a tradition my wife and I uphold, for whenever a business deal is successfully closed." He cocked an eyebrow before standing, stretching a wiry arm across the desk separating the two men."If a deal is, in fact, what we do have" his voice melted sweetly on the floor around them.

"Well Mr. Ba-"

"Chuck."

"Chuck," Mark repeated, sliding out of his chair and meeting Mr. Bass's hazelnut eyes, "You certainly draw right to the point."

His calloused hand clasped Chuck's smooth palm in a solid handshake before returning to his empty suit pocket. It was the unspoken symbol of agreement used for centuries by men across the globe, offered, rejected, and shared among many others by the same famous man Mark stood in front of. It was the beginning of a new possibility for Mr. Hutlen's organization, a chance to make his cause known globally, to cause a stir in the media outlets, something he had little success with otherwise.

For Chuck Bass it was the basis on which a new bridge was to be built, connecting the past to the present. A chance for him to really know if she was happy after all these years without him. There seemed to be a Blair Waldorf without a Chuck Bass, just as there seemed to exist a Chuck Bass without a Blair Waldorf.

Sometimes though, appearances weren't everything.

* * *

A pale leg extended from the shadowed darkness of a sleek limo as a four inch stiletto clicked to the pavement with forcible contact as Blair exited the car, grabbing a matching black leather purse from the seat beside her and pulling the straps onto her shoulders as she stepped onto the curb. Her driver, Nicholas, shut the door silently and rounded the front of the limo, returning to the driver's seat in wait of his employers return.

Plucking a and pair of red sunglasses from her bag she pushed them up the bridge of her nose, applying sheen to her dry lips before heading up the stone steps into the building. The wide hallways were empty of children although a few nannies could be spotted in the corners waiting anxiously for their "children" to appear from any which direction, skillfully hiding from their loathed babysitters with excitement.

Blair smiled weakly at them as she passed, her eyes landing with a heavy sigh on Tula and Henry as she entered their art class. Both sat on a metal bench at the front of the classroom as far away from each other as they could possibly get. Henry's face was blotched with tears and a trickle of snot was attached to his lip as it quivered in frustration and upset. Tula threw an icy glare at her brother, tightening her crossed arms around her chest, eyebrows flat against her eyelids, a scowl marking irritation.

Glancing around the brightly lit room Blair took no notice of a teacher, administrator, or even the head master as she strode up to her children, calling forth a sea of disappointment as she looked upon them.

"Mommy," Henry exclaimed, his voice wary and low as he grabbed a hold of her waist in an apologetic embrace. Blair snaked her arms around him before bending on her tiptoes to talk to the two of them at eye level. Tula twisted her head in direction of the door, huffing as she did, not wanting to take part in the lecture her mother was about to unleash.

Blair placed her hand on Tula's elbow, waiting for her daughter's eyes to meet her own.

"Can somebody tell me what happened?"

"Tula stole my lunchbox" Henry blurted, Tula snarled, narrowing her eyes at her brother "and then her friends started calling me a baby and Tula said I was so, but I'm really not."

"And then?" Blair questioned an air of patience in her pressing words, giving time for both sides of the story to unfold. It was a skill learned only by mothers of twins, one second they were best friends the next you could find yourself in the middle of the kitchen while both parties hurled metal spoons at each other. Each fight or disagreement held a two dimensional truth, or depending on the hour, a rubrics cube of tangled interconnecting reasons and part fibs caught on the lips of children hoping to escape punishment.

"I did not call him a BABY," Tula retorted "I simply didn't object when Sam and Max started saying it."

"Did so!" Henry cried, "you pushed me!"

"You pinched me!"

"You pushed me first!"

"Did not!" Tula argued.

"Did so!"

"Did **NOT**!"

"Did so!"

Blair closed her eyes as the declarations of innocent escalated dramatically in volume, counting to ten before silencing them.

"A lady never argues," she stated, placing her right hand on Tula's knee," And a gentleman never yells." Left hand on Henry's knee as it swung over the side of the bench. "And_ nobody, girl or boy, _uses physical violence to get a point across," she looked briefly at each child, "am I understood?"

"Yes" They answered in unison, chins tucked into the folds of their uniforms in remorse, battle armor hidden beneath dress shirts for another hour. Blair pulled an embroidered handkerchief from her purse, gently rubbing it against Henry's nose as he blew into it.

"Tula I want you to apologize to your brother,"

"But mo-" She protested avidly.

"Apologize," Blair's tone sharpened, "Now please."

Tula turned obediently towards Henry with uncrossed arms, "I am sorry," she articulated perfectly with a smile, knowing better than to disobey her mother in any form once it was made clear that the line had been pushed far enough.

"I am sorry too," Henry offered with the same smile plastered across his cherub face.

They forced upon themselves an obligatory hug, clasping each other's shoulders lightly while maintaining a comfortable distance. Blair exhaled, it was the best she would be able to elicit from the two of them on that particular day and so she settled for it.

She stood, brushing lint off of her dress before allowing her arms to fall naturally at her sides, Tula and Henry jumped from their seats, choosing a side to stand on before placing hands in Blair's secure palms. She questioned them about their schoolwork and friends as the trio made their way out of the school, the dispute long forgotten once Nicholas rounded the back of the limo to open the door.

A woman who once fought so fiercely had transformed into a mother who chose her battles wisely.

* * *

_October 8th, 2011:_

"_Blair?" Chuck called, unbuttoning his jacket and dropping it to the floor alongside his luggage as the emptiness of the hotel suite echoed off the walls. He held a dejected glance at the vacant mattress as he turned towards the bathroom, kicking off his leather shoes and leaving a trail of business attire in his wake. _

_He smelt of airplanes and foreign countries, long arguments and dull conversations, elements of his travels, of his business, of himself that led to a desperate need for cleanliness from his shower, his own apartment, his life as it was and not how it had to be. _

_There was no brunette waiting in the foreground to gather him into her arms, to lock her legs around his hips in a singular leap from across the suite, a combination of elation and satisfaction in her fingertips as they trailed his cheekbone with overwhelming affection._

_He turned the faucet on, concentrating on the last time he had seen her, the moments blurred together, her voice a faint murmur in the background of the chaos. He was raw from separation, bitter from loneliness, these things he knew as he raised his chin towards the stream of hot water._

_A month had turned into an eternity, he had promised her the world and then prepared a hasty goodbye from the tarmac not even a week later. Her kisses upturned on his face in trusting breaths, leather gloves clutching the Erickson Beaman necklace he had given her years prior._

"_We'll talk every night, right?" She had whispered in his ear, a nod against her forehead in response "every night," he had repeated emphatically._

_He hadn't heard her voice in two and a half weeks; relying on other forms of communication for some sign of her. Nothing. He had since resigned himself to leaving long grumbled voicemails on her cell phone every few days in the stupor of desperation, weak words of declaration against several thousand miles and an ocean between them._

_He turned off the shower, stepping onto the cold marble of the bathroom floor he reached for a fleecy towel, securing it around his abdomen. Padding into the bedroom, he entered the closet, a hand gliding across pressed suits before resting on a drawer beneath his collection of bowties. He paused upon hearing an unfamiliar sound emerge from the hallway. Several paces of complete silence passed before he relaxed his shoulders and shrugged into a pair of satin pajamas, all too ready for bed despite the rain that pelted the windows in thunderous masses._

_"What's wrong?" her voice was flat, "you're not supposed to be home for another four days."_

_Chuck moved swiftly, as he identified her silhouette against the doorframe. They were so close, he could reach out and touch her, take her in his arms, and instead a clenched fist formed at his waist, an aloofness to her presence existed in the moment that startled him._

_"Nothing's wrong, I caught an early flight back."_

_"Oh, are you sure?" her voice rose and Chuck smirked, able to detect the woman he knew, a paradox of certainty and curious suspicion underneath all the layers formed by separation._

_"You've been ignoring my calls," he twirled, facing away from her as he walked the length of the closet,"and my texts, and my emails."_

_"I've been busy,"_

_"For two and a half weeks?" He cocked an eyebrow, she pursed her ruby clad lips, he took a step towards her, she took two steps back._

_"My life doesn't revolve around you, just like I don't expect yours to revolve around me."_

_"Well then, I'm sorry to disappoint but one of us is clearly invested in this relationship more so than the other." _

_Her cheeks flustered as he continued his slow approach, "and I think it's me," he whispered into the thick air._

_"I'm tired of being alone in this stupid hotel, and you pr-" she shifted her weight, not willing to appease him without hostile confrontation._

_"I promised to withhold all my business trips until January."_

_"And you didn't. Just another promise the great" her eyes widened as she threw her hands into the air, "GREAT, Chuck Bass has broken."_

_He ached to touch her cheek, to stroke her eyelids with the pad of his thumb. Carefully he traced his pinkie along her jaw as she exhaled heavily._

_"I really really need you to forgive me because I truly am sorry Blair." His fingers fell under her chin, pulling it up gently to meet the earnest in his eyes. "I'm here now."_

_"But for how long," she turned her cheek into his hand, he opened his mouth to answer, she continued, her voice shaking, "I feel so juvenile. I can't think when you're not around."_

_Blair crushed herself against his chest, burying her nose into his shirt, encircling her arms around his neck. _

_"I hate you," she murmured delicately, "I honestly do."_

_Chuck laughed heartily, the emptiness filling so rapidly that it bubbled over. He had finally captured home, no amount of imagination or memory could do her justice. The way her auburn locks fell around her shoulders in broad waves. The rouge lipstick she had coveted since the beginning of her freshman year in July, pronounced the subtle curves of her lips as they stretched across her teeth in a glorious smile. _

_A face that hid behind his lidded eyes every night that he drifted to sleep alone in a foreign country, empty of emotion beyond the insistent bliss brought on by the thought of her standing in front of him as she did then, his only home._

* * *

Chuck drummed his fingers on the oak paneling of the elevator anxiously; it stopped a floor below the penthouse. Chuck placed his silver key in the lock below the floor numbers and it rode the last floor up, opening its doors to reveal his entryway. He stood; listening intently for any indication that Abigail would be home, the only sound reaching his ears was the soft crunch of maid's shoes against the floor as they worked.

He stepped out of the elevator, quietly placing his jacket on the circular glass table before walking into the foyer. A briefcase heavy in his hand, weighing down just about any kind of free time he could fathom having in the next ten years. Taking the grand staircase two at a time, he ventured down the hallway on the second floor, searching out a suitable place to drop his briefcase, maybe even burn it when she pulled him into the guest bedroom, pushing him eagerly against the door.

"You're home!" Abby exclaimed, fingers working to undo his dress shirt as she talked, "How was work?"

"I closed a dea-"

"Oh that's wonderful darling!" Her hands running up his bare chest seductively before maneuvering the leather belt around his waist, through its silver buckle.

Chuck closed his eyes, _home._

Blair appeared, an unpleasant scowl across her face, as if she was disapproving of him in every way, he had caused that frown, brought it to life, she was so real and yet she was not. Chuck's eyes blinked open swiftly, he backed further into the door while Abby looked up from undoing the zipper on his pants.

It was then that he took in his surroundings, the wallpaper in the guest room had been ripped off and painted over in a soothing yellow, a white sleigh crib was pushed against the wall while an antique rocking chair sat in front of the window behind the sheer violet curtains'.

He pushed Abby off with a little extra force, his pulse quickening as he stepped away from the door, closing it behind them.

"What's this?" He gestured towards the guest room turned infant nursery, "do-" his voice cracked, "you have something to tell me?"

"Don't you like it?" Abby defended innocently, pushing him up against the wall behind the door, "I had the maids working all day to get it ready."

"Ready for what," his voice was razor sharp against her fluffy mannerism, as her breath warmed his cheek.

"I just thought," she whispered, the tip of her tongue trailing the shell of his ear, "that you might want to change things soon," His skin shivered as she placed kisses down the bare of his neck "and I want to be ready."

"You thought wrong, we've talked about this."

"No," she corrected, "I've talked. You," she stabbed her index finger into his chest, "you say no and then that, that, is supposed to be the be all end all of the fucking conversation."

Chuck's legs twitched, he wanted to run; the walls were contracting, threatening to close in and crush him, swallow him whole.

"But maybe, _MAYBE_ I want a child." she held two fingers up "Two years, _TWO_ years we've been married and for a whole year now I've been saying the same thing. It's like you don't _want_ to make me happy, like you don't _REALLY_ want me other than for sex and show. Would a child really be too much of a commitment for you? Is that what it's all about? Because that's really funny, marriage is supposed to be a commitment, all we do is sleep together, that's_ ALL_ we do."

"We agreed," he snarled, his instincts kicking in as she attacked.

"Things change, they always change. I love you Chuck Bass, I married you didn't I?"

"True," he grabbed her left hand, pulling the four carat engagement ring between them, "and you met with _so much_ refusal." He turned, opening the door and walking towards the stairs as she followed behind, "Do not walk away from me Chuck, do not walk away from me." He ignored her, the enraged twinge that morphed all the emotion in her voice barreling over his head as his feet met the foyer floor.

He clenched his jaw, buttoning up his dress shirt as he waited for the elevator to reach his floor, slinging a jacket over his broad shoulder. He stepped onto the lift, the crash of a vase against a distant wall ringing loud as the heavy doors sealed all but the emptiness around him.

* * *

"Be careful!" Blair called over her shoulder as she hurriedly tied Henry's shoelaces. They had arrived in front of the studio minutes before rehearsal was scheduled to begin and the stress was starting to coil tightly inside her stomach as Tula did plié after plié in the middle of the busiest sidewalk on the Upper East Side. Henry hopped from his seat moments later, handing his mother her purse before she dipped into the limo to retrieve Tula's backpack. Pulling a shaking hand through her auburn curls automatically she grabbed her children's hands ushering them inside the studio, praying with unbound hope that she had not forgotten anything of importance.

Tula ran past the receptionist, waving avidly before disappearing inside the dressing room with her backpack in tow while her mother and brother continued down the hall towards the theatre.

"Ah!" The ballet teacher gasped, a tall woman with straight black hair and emerald eyes. "Bonjour Madame Hutlen, salut Henry!" she clasped her hands together, her golden bangles clanking together with force. Blair upturned her lips in an encouraged smile, struggling to drain the chagrin from her words. " Bonjour Mademoiselle Vivienne, comment alez-vous?"

"Je vais bien, et tu?"

"Trés bien merci." Ever since Mark had let it slip in a past conversation that Blair was an avid French speaker Tula's ballet teacher had insisted upon conversations that drifted between English and French as often as possible. Henry slipped into a seat, playing contently with his transformers action figure while they conversed about the recital and the rehearsal, a gaggle of girls already on stage awaiting instruction. Tula pranced down the aisles, stopping in front of her mother in her bright pink tutu and white tights, hair twisted into a perfect bun.

She bent to drop a kiss on her forehead," You look absolutely gorgeous my love," A lustrous smile crept across her daughters face, "A bientôt Tula." She nodded in understanding, hugging her mother quickly before running down the aisle and clambering onstage in search of her group.

She stood up, casting her brown eyes at her son, "Allons-y Henry," she said, straightening her back and offering him her hand.

"Well we must be going, my husband and I will see you tonight Vivienne, good luck with your show."

And with that, Blair and her son and exited the theatre, entering their limo bound for home if only for a few hours.

* * *

"Blair?" Mark talked into his cell as he fished the keys out of his pocket, turning them in the ignition, "Blair, can you hear me?"

"Mark? Hi," She sounded tired, and he was suddenly struck with a solid wall of guilt at being so elated.

"I've got news," He breathed, trying to turn onto a side street with one hand, "BIG news."

"What is it, hold on - Henry, drink your milk, stop playing with your food and eat it." She sighed before turning her attention back to the call, "Sorry honey, what?"

"He agreed to invest!" He cried blissfully, "We have an investor!"

There was silence; it dragged on for half a minute before Mark looked questioningly at his phone, checking to make sure the call had not been lost.

"Blair, did you hear me?"

She cleared her throat, "Uh," static interrupted the conversation as she moved for something, "that's, that's amazing. I'm so proud of you!"

"I'm so happy it's hard to talk, God I miss you." He confessed, "God I miss the kids. How has the day gone so far?"

"Oh, it's been fine" she choked out, her voice faltering, probably straining to contain her extreme excitement at the news.

"He wanted us to come over for dinner tonight but I told him I had a previous engagement."

"What did you say?" Blair's voice escalated slightly, a tinge of something undetectable in her question.

"I just said I was previously tied up, he said it was fine though. No need to worry. I said 'rain check' and he agreed. Don't worry about it honey, don't even _fret _for a second. I've got this in the bag."

"Oh, okay. So he didn't ask about your wife or anything," she prodded; it was unlike her to flush the details out of him over the phone.

"Oh, he didn't really ask. Just the standard 'are you married?' I didn't take it beyond that. We talked business mostly. He said something about how he wants to talk over drinks in a few days though. I suppose that's when he'll ask me if I'm a family man."

"Right - Take your plate to the sink please, and go change out of your uniform - Listen, I have to go help him get ready," She declared, "I hope you're heading home."

"I am," he answered, "Good, I'll see you soon then, love you." The line went dead.

"Love you too," Mark replied to the dial tone, snapping his cell shut he glanced at the passenger's seat, the fresh bouquet of pink peonies flapping against the side door as he entered Brooklyn.

* * *

**A/N : **You guys are SERIOUSLY fantastic (: I hope that this chapter answered a few of your questions, any thoughts, feedback?


	4. I only want you

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl just the specific story I choose to bring the characters into.

A/N: The response I've been recieving for this story so far is absoloutley amazing! Thank you to everyone who continues to read and review and make my day with their feedback and enthusiasm, it really helps to keep the story flowing. Once again, major props to kate2008 (: Happy reading ~

**Warning: **There are a few sexual scenerios throughout this chapter, nothing too detailed.

* * *

_Chuck: Let's take it slow this time. Do it right.  
Blair: Blegh... Chuck Bass is a romantic, who knew?  
Chuck: Now you do, and it's all what it matters.  
-- Gossip Girl_

**Chapter Four:**

The theatre was dark, lit only by the meek floor fixtures that sprinkled down both sides of the three main aisles, Henry preceded his parents as he searched the numbers on the rows, holding the ticket Blair had handed him before they had gathered to go inside. His boldly yellow bowtie glistening in the near darkness as his brows furrowed in concentration, checking and re-checking the white ballet, the caliber of the task commandeering his attention.

Mark's hand rested firmly on Blair's lower back, pressing against her mauve dress as their footsteps followed their son down the center aisle. A few small groups of people peppered the near empty auditorium, a perk of being rationally early. She had anticipated the restless boredom awaiting an eight year old boy during his sisters two and a half hour recital and had decidedly shown up early in order to bestow upon him a rite of passage, a journey unto which responsibility began in tiny increments. A journey which also included a package of cookies, his Nintendo DS, and a few actions figures of various superheros hidden away in her purse - be them needed.

"Mommy, Daddy" he called, waving to them from a few rows down "I found them!" his voice rumbled excitedly, his posture straight with pride at completing the task as his finger pointed to three seats four rows away from the stage.

Mark's hand slid off her back in one fluid motion, a gratified smile on his lips in praise of his son, bending down he checked the ticket clutched by Henry, matching the numbers and letters to the seats marked, standing to receive a forceful, clapped high-five before inching into the row and sitting, gesturing for the family to follow. Blair closed her arm around Henry's shoulders as he marched in beside his mother, closest to the aisle. She quietly noted the satisfaction of his very grown up mission already diminishing, the ebullient smile subtly replaced with a nonchalant stare and droopy eyelids. Briskly she retrieved the DS from her purse, dropping the entertainment into his lap with a kiss on the top of his head.

"The deal is" she started, leaning into her son's ear as he nodded gratefully, "you have to keep it on mute okay?" He nodded again, his hazelnut hair flapping slightly with the movement "Yeah, okay mommy."

A spotlight snapped on, echoing through the auditorium, the fresh hum of the newly formed crowd decreased as people began filing in all at once. Vivienne appeared from behind the thick green curtain, her short hair in styled disarray as she addressed the parents and relatives of the pupils in her class.

"Hello everyone, and welcome to the pre-spring recital." It was time, and those who tripped into the auditorium were cutting it very close to late. "Without further ado, I introduce to you, La ballerinas," she moved backwards off the stage as a stream of applause encouraged the girls who were revealed in a line as the curtains drew back. Mark's hand shifted onto Blair's, catching her eye quickly before flipping her palm over, squeezing it in anticipation. She offered a small laugh, her attention caught entirely on their daughter as she moved onstage. A beam on her lips to rival any other, blithe in her practiced steps as she made them, gravitating in the orbit of focused admiration, the attention was heaved onto her and with each twirl a section more of it was absorbed gratefully.

The melodious tune of the orchestra produced light notes of a past symphony, providing a melancholy tone, pushing at Blair with ardor. Maneuvering her hand from underneath her husband's she placed it quietly on her lap, eyes glued to the stage as Mark threw her a questioning look. Questions, questions, so many questions she would not answer. She shuffled away, the armrest digging into her hip, away from his touch, his breath, his glances, his lips, his words. His questions.

Abruptly she recalled herself just as swiftly as she had forgotten, her stomach turning with lust as she whispered into Mark's ear "_I told you so_."

He grinned wildly, questions muted for a later time, his mouth pressing against her cheek, "She gets it from you then, I'm hardly able to do the two step."

And just like that the heaviness of the tension dissolved, and they were as they had been for years, a husband and wife in love. The secrets between them insignificant and ordinary, as they watched their daughter prance about the stage, emitting a confidence and contentment that Blair had never known at her age. While their son, enthralled in his videogame, looked up every once in a while, a dull sigh at the ready.

* * *

The way he saw it, he had exactly two options, a definite markdown from the thousands of possibilities that presented themselves as he had stepped into Victrola a few hours previous. So, evidently, it was the way he was beginning to see it as he winced down shot after shot of alcohol and scantily clad woman after scantily clad woman danced about on stage rather seductively.

Unfortunately neither of the options involved any extra marital affairs, although he was definitely itching for something within that magnitude, deciding only that it was better to invest in the fantasy of being an eighteen year old boy again - without the sticky golden jewelry of commitment wrapped threateningly around his finger.

He could wander over to his penthouse at the palace but surely Abby would discover his moderately drunk self asleep on the clean sheets...

Okay, one option. It was simple and yet interlaced with uncertainty, he could just go home, mumble an unnecessary apology and climb into bed, a bed not void of Abigail but shared with her, an argument to be dealt with in the morning. He stood, walking out into the night, outside on the street raindrops pelted his coat as he clambered into the limo.

"My Hamptons estate" he belted out, before rolling up the dividing window.

* * *

Blair sat on the edge of the bed braiding her hair loosely, her exposed skin turning gooseflesh as Mark brushed his teeth in the bathroom. The frigid weather of winter had set upon their house, a pronounced and often unwelcome visitor that kept everyone raw and ardent for the sweetness of spring. Little conversation had passed between Blair and Mark on the drive home, both children fast asleep by the time the car pulled up to their brownstone.

Dorota had gathered up purses, bags, and backpacks while Mark carried a groggy Henry up the limestone steps and into the house, venturing towards his bedroom. Blair carefully pulled Tula from her seat; she awoke disorientated, clutching her mother's neck as she settled onto her hip. Her porcelain skin translucent under the deep yellow of the streetlamp as she adjusted her head on her mother's shoulder, while Blair struggled to close the car door. Between shuffling the kids upstairs, bidding them goodnight with a stained kiss to the cheek and the faint aroma of Mark's cologne as he mimicked Blair's gestures, there was nothing to be said, no time to escape from the moment to be alone.

He stood in the doorway to the bathroom, watching his wife as she tied an elastic around her shoulder length hair. A determination set about his strides as he cut the distance between them and sat beside her, "tell me a secret" he inquired into the nape of her neck, his fingers sliding down the silky sheen of her slip, pausing at her tailbone.

"What kind of secret?" She teased, her head turned away from him as his lips moved towards her ear, nipping at her skin.

"Any kind of secret, something spectacular, something marvelous, something amazing," the dialogue was primitive to their relationship, the scene had played out year after year since their first anniversary, Blair's favorite tradition of speak.

"Hrm," she pondered, rolling her bottom lip between her front teeth, "I hated the shirt you wore tonight."

He looked up at her, pushing her backwards and climbing on top of her, "It's an Eleanor Waldorf original!" He cried, feigning tears as he sat straight up on his wife's abdomen, bearing the bulk of his own weight in his thighs.

She giggled before pounding her fists on his bare chest lightly, shaking her head from side to side.

"Exactly, that's why I hated it," She pouted for emphasis "Every woman in there was wistfully staring at you the entire night. It was dreadful and irritating." She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down, her lips to his.

"Promise me something?"

"Mmmm?"

"Never, wear it ever again," her tone was flat and serious, yet joking all at once. Mark smirked, "I promise."

"Throw it away" she countered.

"I'll burn it," he answered, jumping up from the bed, Blair sat up as Mark's hands reached for the hem of her slip. Lifting her arms with impatient want, the silk moved up and over her, the weight of the braid thumping against her neck as he tossed the article of clothing aside. A cage of butterflies released themselves in her stomach, thrashing about with barbaric familiarity, skin to skin.

His hands slid to her breasts, kneading them gently, a moan escaping her slightly parted lips, a pleading silence. He complied by discarding his own clothing, entering her wetness in one solid motion, a unified tangle of limbs and desire.

Mark's breath, his lips, his touch, his glances; she could not be filled enough with them.

* * *

Chuck rolled onto his back, groaning roughly, a clammy hand rubbing his eyes while he attempted to adjust to the brilliant morning sun that filtered through his bedroom curtains. Propping himself up on his elbows he fumbled backwards a moment before steadying himself. Looking down only to regard that he had fallen asleep fully clothed on top of the covers, his lemon bowtie crookedly tied around his previously crisp purple shirt, his feet still showcasing the shiny Italian leather loafers over argyle patterned socks.

He reached a hand up, attentively touching his mussed hair when his cell phone rang, a shrill discordant tune breaking the thin film of silence. Standing up quickly he reached for his pocket a moment before finding the offending noise and promptly opening it.

"Hello" He said, sounding as if he had stuffed gauze in his mouth.

"Chuck hi, it's Blair Wal-Hutlen, Blair Hutlen."

"Hi Blair," He ran a hand through his hair anxiously as he waited for her reply. Wondering what time it was he cast his eyes on his Rolex realizing that it was almost noon and cursing himself for answering his phone.

"Hi Chuck, listen" there was a moment of silence as she moved either towards something or away from it on the other line "I don't know why you're doing this but I propose that if you're going to-"

"Doing what?" His tone was sharp, his head was pounding and he was in no mood to be verbally accused of anything, he wasn't in the mindset to ward off or plaster fake anything into any type of conversation. Clearly though he would have to, a conversation with Blair would entail mounting on his innocent charm, given he had masterfully looped himself into her life again without even the slightest of her knowledge.

All he wanted was a cup of steaming black coffee - no sugar, no milk - and maybe a scone. None the less he persevered, his voice smooth honey.

"If you called to invite me to lunch I'm afraid I have to inform you that I am otherwise engaged today."

She continued as if she had not heard his witty remark, "I'm calling to accept your invitation to dinner, my husband and I would be very pleased to spend a night with you and your wife." She was all business, her tone holding no informal means, he was just another man who was investing his pocket change in her husband's cause and she was complying as best she could to the conditions of the support he had promised.

"Wonderful," Chuck had wandered out of the bedroom and into the washroom, pressing the cell phone between his shoulder and neck while he slicked his hair into perfection.

"Great listen,"

"You've said that twice, evidentially Waldorf I am in fact listening,"

"Whatever Chuck, I haven't told Mark about you and I'd really appreciate it if we could keep the intimacies of our acquaintance private."

"How private?" He questioned with amusement.

"We're friends from high school, although never great friends, basically born into the same social circles, not much more than that" she bit out with aggravation.

"Fine, I suppose having been sleeping with me for several years on and off during our seemingly_ unimportant_ acquaintance would be entirely inappropriate anyway."

"It would, are we in agreement?"

"Agreed. My assistant will call your husband with the details"

"Okay. What about your wife?" she questioned as an afterthought.

"She doesn't know anything about you Blair, don't worry."

"Oh okay, bye Chuck"

"Wait," he said urgently before having a chance to collect himself, as he stepped outside and into his waiting limo.

"Yes?" She asked her voice free of contempt.

"I was not actually unimportant to you was I? I mean - looking back" Fuck, what was he doing, what was he _saying_?

"No," her voice was barely above a murmur as she processed his idiotic question, "you weren't."

"Good to know." He cleared his throat, "Bye Blair." Without a second thought he closed the phone and leaned against the door, watching the trees as they pulled out of his Hamptons estate.

* * *

Blair sighed heavily as she placed the phone back into its cradle. _No Chuck, you are simply the co-creator of the two most important humans who happen to possess my heart; the same if not as much as you once did. _

Leaning against the wall she ran her thumb nail over her bottom lip several times...

_"Chuck?"_

_His fingers ran around her waist as he dropped his chin in the crook of her neck. She twisted to greet him with a kiss before turning herself back to window, his head returned to its previous position as they watched the city below. People hurried by, braving the strong wind as it rattled the tree's and brushed newspapers and debris into the air. Blair shivered subconsciously and he pulled her further into his chest, tightening his grip on her waist._

_"Looks like snow" he remarked._

_"You think?"_

_He nodded, "Look at the clouds."_

_"I suppose" a smile tugging at the corner of her lips "it is almost November after all."_

_"Almost, almost" he rolled the word around in his mouth "It's winter and it's almost your birthday."_

_She ran her hands along his forearm, it was true but it wasn't what she was thinking. Shivering again she took notice of the coldness in the suite._

_"You're cold, I'll go light the fire" he whispered, kissing the nape of her neck before releasing his grasp. Blair glanced up at the clouds before heading into the living room "And I'll order room service."_

"Mommy" Startled, Blair backed into the wall a little, snapping out of the memory and she processed her surroundings taking in Tula and Henry as they stood in front of her. "Mom?" Tula repeated a questioning look on her face as she placed her hands on her hips - all too reminiscent of a gesture Blair made when she was confused or angry.

"Daddy said to tell you that breakfast is almost ready."

"Oh he did, did he?" She grabbed the twin's hands as they headed out of the living room and down the hall "And what did he make this morning?"

"Eggs benny!" They squealed in delight, Blair laughed. Of course - Saturday was eggs Benedict and morning scrabble as always while Sunday was French toast and early cartoons.

* * *

"Charles, is that you?"

Abigail was painting her toenails a deep red, splayed across the bedspread as she flipped through a magazine and waved around her hand to help it dry faster. She didn't look up from her magazine as he appeared from behind the hallway wall "Hi Abby." She snapped her gum, cocking an eyebrow at him while he placed his coat and briefcase on a chair.

"Where were you all night?" She was angry but he guessed by the nonchalance in her tone that it was degree's less than the previous night.

"I stayed at Neil's." She absolutely hated it when he left the city without her, and if he told her the truth he would never be able to escape to his Hampton's estate in peace without her trailing him. She also loathed Neil with a passion but the penance for a night at his bachelor pad would be considerably less than the long term commitment of divulging one's secret getaway.

"I figured" she scoffed, practically ripping a page out of the magazine as she flipped it.

"I thought you had a meeting to go to today," he sat on the very edge of the bed furthest away from where she laid.

"Nina changed all my appointments to Monday" she replied flatly.

Chuck didn't bother to ask as he undid his shoelaces and slid his feet out of the Italian loafers.

"I want a divorce."

He was taken aback, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

"What?"

"There's one thing I want Chuck and you're refusing to give it to me. I've given you two years of my life, two of my best years, and I think I'd rather spend the majority of the rest of them with someone who will actually make an _effort_."

He twisted to observe her as she sat up, shaking her blonde hair about her shoulders, brushing the magazine off to the side. Her eyes fixed on his with steady intent as he fought to discover an appropriate response.

"Abby ... I know you want a baby but what about your career?" He was taking petty shots in the dark with shaking hands but he had to try. "What about our vacations, our homes, our free time. All of that would have to change, _permanently_."

"So? I'm 27 years old Chuck, I think I can go with a little less free time. Besides, we would hire nannies and still do what we do, and once he - or she - got old enough it would just be a matter of taking him - or her - with us."

He nodded, anxiously scratching his elbow as they talked. How could you explain to someone that you didn't feel ready because it's a lifelong commitment that would bind you eternally to one person, one moment in time? A piece of himself he could never get back once he decided to give it away, away, away to Abigail. His wife. It was unorthodox, he should be eager to pro-create with her, she was a beautiful cunning business woman and yet he was hesitant.

"I don't want my children raised by nannies." It was all he could honestly say, if he were to have children with his wife, babies who cried and squirmed and rolled around on the hardwood floor, he would be there to witness it every day. Maybe even record it in one of those highly over-rated leather bound baby books.

Abigail could sense that she was wearing down the falls, crumbling them brick by brick, her eyes shining in pre-won defeat of the great Chuck Bass's firm ruling.

"Then we won't hire nannies Bassey, we can be there for everything" She stretched into his lap, looking up at his angular chin as he looked towards the window.

_"Are you so sure Basshole?"_

_"I would bet my company on it"_

_Blair rose from the couch, running towards the bedroom, minutes later she returned with a photo album between her hands._

_"Bass industries you say? Prepare to legally sign it over," he grabbed her by the wrists pulling her onto him, peals of laughter erupted as the photo album slipped from her grasp._

_"Chuck!" She whined, squirming between laughs as his lips made contact with her chest. He worked slowly towards her neck, suckling on a piece of flesh before taking each of her hands and rubbing them against his lips delicately. He burned for her and he was powerless against the love that pulsed through him like wildfire. _

_She reached a hand up, rubbing her fingers against his light stubble and moving to cup his cheek._

_"I'll give my company to you whether or not there is a picture of my seven year old self in that album."_

_"What if I don't want it," She straddled him and moved closer to his lips "What if I want everything, everything you could possibly give me?" The impact of their lips dug Chuck into the back of the couch. He didn't have to say anything; she knew he was hers for the rest of their lives, permanently. Forever the property of one Blair Waldorf and he would give her the world, or as much of it as she craved. _

_His hands moved under her shirt and she sprung up, a mischievous smirk on her lips as she reached for the discarded album. Chuck sat up, moaning with displeasure at having to stop his exploration in favor of the search for a photo. Her hair fell in a shiny curtain around her face as she skimmed the pages. Hours later, or so it seems when one's beautiful girlfriend is occupied with a picture while you have a massive erection, she held up the correct page to his eyes. A tiny Chuck next to an equally small Nate who had his arm wrapped around a miniature Blair who's other hand was held steadfast by the taller Serena as they smiled at the camera outside of Serena's 7th birthday party._

_Blair threw the album onto the floor once the point was proven, snuggling between Chuck, running her tongue from the base of his neck to the tip of his chin._

_"For my first act as the newly appointed head of Bass Industries ..." she drawled, "I strongly suggest you kiss me."_

"Charles?" Abby questioned a confused look on her face as she rose from his lap "Hello?" He answered her with a kiss, prodding her tongue with his own. Seconds later they were naked, his fingers working at her center with expertise while she mounted him, eliciting a guttural moan as he entered her. "No condom?" She whimpered, leaning into him as he thrust into her; he reached around her neck pulling her closer to him as their foreheads touched, "No condom."

He was reserving the most important piece of himself for a woman who had married another man. A woman, who would never be his again, shared memories the only evidence of their love, the only remembrance of their time together. Ignorance for his past devotion under the scrutiny of her husband, and it was time he left the feel of her silky smooth skin under him behind. Time to grow roots where roots were pleading to be grown.

* * *

_"I know."_

_"How do you know?"_

_"I just know, okay?" _

_"I love you."_

_"I love you too."_

_Blair rested her head on Chuck's chest as they laid in bed, he leaned to place a kiss on the top of her head with a smirk._

_"So let me get this straight, one day we're going to get married." _

_She nodded, laughing._

_"Isn't the boyfriend supposed to propose?"_

_"I'm not proposing, I just know."_

_"What else do you know Ms. Waldorf?" He asked, combing her long chestnut hair with his fingers._

_"Well" she began, tracing a fingernail around his nipple, "One day we're going to have children. Not today ... but one day." She winced in anticipation of the tension of his muscles, in the hardness of his voice she was sure that she had just unleashed. His muscles remained relaxed; his voice was soft in the night air._

_"I think I'd like that, when we're ready that is."_

_"You would?" her voice cracked in surprise._

_"I would instantly love any child that had your eyes."_

_"And your jaw line,"_

_"Mmm, let's not forget your lips"_

_"Your hair"_

_"Your laugh. The real one, when you're truly happy, not when you're trying to please someone."_

_"Your smirk" She countered, "I'd let him get away with almost anything then."_

_"I could see it now," he joked, skimming her cheek with his thumb._

_"So could I." Blair laughed and it reached her eyes, a truly happy laugh, free of the need to satisfy._

* * *

**A/N:** So what did you think?


	5. Lover without love

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl, just the specific story I choose to bring the characters into.

A/N: Hey everyone! I updated a little bit faster than I usually do (thanks to all your spectacular reviews) Totally made my day with all your feedback, thankyouthankyou ! This chapter and the next will be done in complete flashback of the same day. With props to Kate2008 (: Happy reading ~

* * *

_Well painted passion  
You rightly expect  
Impersonation  
The dumbing down of love  
Jaded in anger  
Love underwhelms you  
No box of chocolates  
Whichever way you fall  
And if i tell you  
Lover alone without love  
Will you miss him?  
--Frou Frou_

_  
_**Chapter Five: **

_November 24th, 2011._

She shut her eyes tight against morning, against an empty bed, in defiance of how she was feeling, of how she always felt when he had to leave. As tempting as the thought of sulking proved to entice Blair she knew she would get up, ignore the aching of her bones, drown out the whistling echo of solitude, and stand poised, at the ready for the day with a gingerly smile in place.

It was difficult not to wonder how often she would wake next to a cold imprint of his body, find a half eaten piece of toast on its plate. Seldom would he leave an entire breakfast in the kitchen, bits and pieces vanished from the beautiful display, a somewhat apologetic gesture in regards to his departure.

These occurrences were regular to her now, his promise a broken excuse for a compilation of words; lay at the foot of their bed licking its salted wounds. She buried her matted head further into the pillow, inhaling deeply the scent of borrowed tears and the evasive smell of forever.

The sun, a yellow ball peeking up from the hard edges of the buildings, flit dim light across the room, blocked out in patches by the heavy thickness of the curtains.

"Bl-Blair?" Nate's youthful voice bellowed throughout the apartment.

"Blair?" He called again, the sharp slam and click of the door as it locked behind him prompted her to stir, a muffled cry escaping the cloth of her pillowcase.

"Seriously," he said aloud with emphasis "I might drop this." Timidly he stepped towards the dinning room, placing his gift on its surface, apprehensive of the dull quiet around him. Generally at the smallest ruffle of wrapping paper she would appear suddenly, her doe eyes assessing the outward appearance and mass of the hidden object with glimmering eyes and disguised elation. Nate turned on his heels as the front door opened once more, revealing a beaming Serena as she lugged two presents and a card between her teeth, struggling to unhinge her purse strap from the outside knob.

"Nate" she hissed, "a little help here!" He walked over, calculated quiet steps, grabbing the presents from the crook of her arm and sliding them next to his own on the table. Serena fumbled momentarily with her strap until it unhooked and the entry way snapped shut. Three solid hasty knocks followed and she reached to pull open the door to Tessa, Courtney, Elise and Mark who lagged behind, recording camera strapped to his hand. "Sorry, my purse got caught and Nate decided to take his sweet freakin' time" nodding in the direction of the dining room where he stood solemly.

"Whatever" Tessa said, breezing past Serena and into the hallway "as long as I don't get stuck holding this cake for much longer, my fingers hurt like a bitch." With that she disappeared down the darkened path in search of the fridge.

Courtney, Elise, and Mark followed into the foyer, past Serena; to discard their presents onto the tabletop.

"She better be here!" Courtney called loudly, leaning against a wooden chair as she cracked her knuckles "Blair Bear!" Elise yelled. "B, get your birthday girl ass out here this instant!" Tessa jokingly demanded, taking stance in the hall.

It was then that Nate's eyes hardened, fastening the tray of room service with an acidic glare. He walked towards the curtains, drawing them back to divulge what the darkness expertly hid from inquiring eyes. A bottle of champagne laid on its side on the carpet next to the cabinet, its contents spilled forth and sticky to the touch. Serena gaped; instantly recognizing the scenario she ran into the kitchen, uncovering an abundance of imported chocolate wrappers stuffed in the garbage under the sink.

Tessa's eyes grew wide at the shards of glass that littered the ground, in a trail from the front of the suite all the way to the living room couch. "Call the front desk, have them send up a maid," Nate ordered to no-one in particular, Courtney swallowed loudly and reached for the phone. Mark turned off his camera hastily, "What happened?" He questioned, his smile faded into a firm frown.

Nate stomped over to the bedroom "He left," he spat in response, opening the French doors with abandoned anger.

Mark turned helplessly towards Serena, "Who- who left?"

"A stupid son of a -- ugh, forget it. He's not even worth mentioning right now" adding after a passed second "or for that matter - ever."

* * *

She felt someone perch themselves on the edge of the bed, fairly close to her stomach. The mattress dipped with the new weight and she rolled into the cover sheet, snoring lightly, hoping the intruder would think she was asleep and leave without any effort exerted. A moisturized hand reached to brush the hair from her face, pulling it behind her ear. Nate's touch was tender and calming ... "Hey" he whispered "B, wake up." Her eyes snapped open, she did not want Nate to leave, she wanted him to stay as he was un-necessary concern and love radiating from his vocal cords.

"Hi there sleepy head," he chuckled, as she adjusted herself against a mountain of pillows "how're you feeling?"

Aside from deserted, unloved, and royally pissed off? "Achey."

If she couldn't manage to keep a steady grasp on Chuck's lapels she would always have Nate at least, even with his brows furrowed and his tongue thick, unsure of how to broach the subject that sat between them, he was still brilliantly beautiful.

"Want me to get you some water?"

"NO!" she practically screamed, clearing her throat in embarrassment, " I mean, stay - don't go anywhere" She patted the empty space next to her, and Nate obliged taking off his shoes before hopping in beside her.

A door shut in the distance from what he could only assume was Serena escorting everyone into the palace hallways with the intent to send them on their separate ways several hours earlier than previously planned.

"All the men in my life" Blair sighed, shifting against Nate who had molded himself to her, "Leave me."

* * *

"Where did he go?" He gently pushed, "What happened?"

For the eternity that he had known Blair, grown up with her, been in love with her, fallen out of love with her, all the accumulated time spent beside her, he had rarely crossed paths with the Blair Waldorf who was broken, who trembled in angst and desperation.

The eating disorder, the frenzied arguments with her mother, the inconsistency that was Chuck, these dependable events deeply wounded the Blair whose body was positioned hesitantly against him - as if he was the human embodiment of all her troubles. The woman he knew was not the one in front of him, shivering with cold, tears mixing with mascara as they streamed down her pale face. No, she was strong, solid and unforgiving, a force to be reckoned with. Always knowing where she was going and how she was going to get there. Nothing was too far out of her reach, no task too large to conquer with a rueful grin at whoever assumed she could not complete it.

He shuddered in thought of how many times he had peeled away that shell with his own mistakes, lies, and confusion, projecting it onto this Blair - the one unearthed behind locked doors.

"Th-there" she sputtered, reaching up to clear away her bleary vision, "w-was a ff-fight." Nate reached around to offer her his handkerchief, she blew into it. He cupped her cheek, pushing as much positive encouragement and understanding into the blues of his eyes. "He came home last night; later than I expected, of course, which I guess makes it expected." Her voice was weak and raspy but she continued "I thought maybe- what did I think? - maybe he'd bring me a pre-birthday present, I wasn't expecting the Louvre or anything- just a box of Godiva chocolates at best." She paused, sniffling, using a clean corner of the monogramed handkerchief to dab her eyes.

"Anyway, he didn't bring me anything, but that didn't matter much. I mean you know me Nate, the only instance in which it would really matter is if it was actually my birthday-but it wasn't- it was the day b-before. He puts his briefcase on the bed, ignores the dinner I s-set out for us on the terrace- looks up at me and says - he says-" Blair swallowed hard " 'B, I have to go to Paris in four hours, I'm so sorry. That's all he says, can you believe it? That's all I get, and then he starts to pack his suitcases. I started bawling and I don't know, I'm just fed up Nate. I got really angry; I heeled him in the shin and threw the champagne glasses I had l-left out against the dining room wall. He said 'Don't make a scene' and tried to grab me but I pushed him off and spread the shards around the apartment. 'You ca-an always come with me' he says as I'm crumpled against the kitchen island, he knew I couldn't, he knew I would not." She was getting irritated; the figurative bruises stinging with each word.

"I have exams and school and my life is here ri-right now, I can't just give that up for Chuck Bass, I will not give it up for him - for anyone. I'm s-so sick of him leaving; I'm tired of being alone in this stupid hotel, in this bed that smells like him. He's constantly leaving and returning and expecting everything to be identical to the minute he left. What can I do? I want to hate him, and sometimes I honestly do, but then I remember that I love him too much to hate him and it drives me crazy. All I can do is just go about my routine until the day he shows u-up again, whenever, however long he plans to be gone."

Nate nodded; perplexed, work was nothing against Chuck's dedication to Blair. Sure, he used to be an infamous womanizer but she was the exception to his rule wasn't she? Kicking her Marc Jacobs pumps off at the door, Serena crept into the bedroom kneeling next to the nightstand, wrapping her silk covered arms around Blair's shoulders.

"You can't judge anyone for what they've done Archibald; because people change" he had said last January, and doubt did not produce abundantly where hope built itself up, for Nate had looked over at Chuck in that moment and had seen it directly reflected in his eyes.

Serena's face mirrored a different knowledge; save one only the closest of friends could obtain about the inner workings of their relationship, a knowledge certainly Nate did not possess given he had only spent a handful of hours with Blair over the course of the last few months, and what once was Chuck's affirmation could be twisted against him as easily as it had spoken for him.

* * *

Her shoulders shook violently as she sobbed into Serena's shirt, "It's okay B, just breathe" she soothed, patting her back in rhythmical circles. Blair sputtered with the effort, burying her face into her friend's necks "It's really going to be okay."

Serena looked at Nate, a glum expression on her face in an attempt to communicate a miniscule portion of the complicated situation. He studied her, struggling with what she was silently asking and what he really wanted, decidedly surrendering with a lamented kiss on Blair's dampened ear, "I'll be in the other room."

"B? Come-let's have a look at you" she coaxed, retreating from the folds of Serena's shirt slowly Blair looked up, limp and tired. Her typically long, silky hazelnut curls were knotted around her face, a face splotched with red accompanied by stained trails of black mascara that smeared around her eyes and dripped towards her chin. She was only able to recall Blair this unkempt when she would barge through the bathroom door, dropping to the ground to find her best friend in the aftermath of a binge; surrounded by half eaten left-overs and sweets - none the less she hid her surprise with a weakened smile.

"Fell asleep with your make-up on again? That eighties rocker look is definitely not for you."

Wiping at her eyes with her hands, "It isn't is it?" Blair inhaled deeply."S, I don't know what to do anymore."

Serena bowed her head, training her eyes on the sheet between them "Blair, I-I don't know what to say. It's Chuck, and every time I think one thing of him he changes his tune so fast that I forget what I thought and start over again."

"Sometimes I wonder if he even loves me anymore."

"You know he does, but that doesn't make him perfect- it doesn't erase every other issue he has, every other reason he gives for running away."

"I feel so stupid, going into this-I thought- it doesn't matter anymore, we're together, I can fix him-" She looked away, tears brimming her eyes "I'm such an idiot."

"It doesn't make sense but" Serena shook her head, placing her hand on Blair's shoulder, "Feelings never do. They get you all confused. Then they drive you around for hours until they drop you right back to where you started." The corners of her dry lips turned up in recognition of the words she had once uttered.

"How do you remember that S?"

"It just kind of stuck with me- who knew you could be so wise."

"I think you have us mixed up," she sniffled, "You're the one nobody would expect such wise things from." Serena swatted Blair's arm playfully "Well I never - now," Blue eyes locked eyes with brown, "I'll be right back." She rose from the bed and skipped into the bathroom, returning with a brush in hand. Groaning, Blair moved forward on the bed as Serena positioned herself in front of the headboard, drawing the tangles from brunette locks with tedious hands.

* * *

Chuck stepped from the jet, eluding a hefty yawn as his feet moved towards the tarmac. The clouds above wisped by in resplendent orange and pink hues that signaled the closing of yet another day, a day which he had not participated in. The weariness of a long flight coupled by the fact that he was unable to sleep the entire way shaped a clumsy rush to his movements as he scanned the sunset, drinking it in greedily, a gentle breeze twisting his hair as he shifted to sit on the musty leather of a parked limo.

Resting his head against the darkened window pane, the engine rumbled to life and the tires squealed restlessly.

_"Blair, I have to go to Paris in four hours, I'm so sorry."_

_"What?"_

_"There's a huge meeting put on by the board and I have no choice other-"_

_"It's my birthday tomorrow." She all but whimpered, her voice a frail declaration of disbelief "You can't."_

_He exhaled; in, out, in, out. Why are you doing this to yourself, to her? _

_Looking down he took notice of the trembling in his hands, quickly setting about to busy himself with packing. Retrieving a suitcase from the upper shelf in the closet, the thump of the object as it landed on the bed caused her to jump slightly. Piling any articles of clothing into the emptiness; his eyes steadily kept on the task at hand. He could hear her breathing, uneven as it was, and he cringed in the beaten sound of her voice._

_"You're always leaving" She reached up to massage her forehead "It's the only constant with you."_

_The pulsing truth of her words made him sick to his stomach, the flimsy excuse tasting pathetic as it rolled off his tongue, dropping flat._

_"Blair, you know the board expects me to fail- their waiting with bated breath for it."_

_She shook her head, crossing her arms and rubbing vigorously, turning to stare out the window. He sighed, feeling the tension lessen as she walked over to him, a small smile on her lips, maybe everything would be alright, maybe she understood. Encircling her arms around his neck she leaned in to his ear "Don't come home." _

_It was a snarl, a deep entrenching phrase asserted with dangerous meaning. She pulled back, staring in his eyes, it was then that he felt the sharp dig of her heel in his shin, it dug and dug, and he winced, eliciting a small cry, did her heel break off in my skin? Turning her chin up at the scene he fell to the ground, watching as she paraded out of the room. _

_Seconds later the vibrating crash of glass against wallpaper echoed throughout the suite, clutching the corner of the bed Chuck pulled himself up, testing his footing before running into the dining room. "Blair," he said, taking small steps towards her; the glass crunching under his feet, "Don't make a scene." He reached for her wrists, yanking them to his chest; she struggled, growling at his touch before squirming free._

_"Don't make a scene? Don't make a SCENE?" Her throat was dry, and her curls hung around her face in long twists._

_"I'm sorry," he choked out "I'm sorry." _

_"You're ALWAYS sorry" she screeched "it's not enough anymore." His frown curved deeper, no it was not. Blair needed to find someone else, someone who could give her what she wanted, what he could not give her no matter his love for her. _

_He was his father's son after all, doomed to a life of solidarity. True love did not belong with him; it was not what his name stood for._

_She moved towards the kitchen island, shrinking to the ground, tears flowing liberally as her raspberry dress crinkled at her thighs. All he would ever do was cause her to break down, to lie on the ground, to pound her fists against him, against anything within a reasonable distance. He was talented at extracting those reactions, the reason for her pain as much as her joy._

_"I hate you" she seethed, her chocolate eyes narrowing "Leave me alone." _

Chuck awoke abruptly, stretching against the door, his phone vibrating against his thigh.

"Hello?"

"Chuck."

"Nathaniel, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Hrm? Whatever do you mean?"

"You know what I'm talking about; it's her birthday for fuck sakes. I can't believe you." He spat out, probobly in the living room of the suite pacing back and forth, a black pit of anger bubbling inside him.

"I have to be here, I couldn't play tardy."

"I know I haven't been around much but I know - _I know_-you're the head of Bass Industries you can push back anything."

"This isn't grade school Nathaniel; I can't skip out because of Blair." Her name stuck to the roof of his mouth, "How is she?"

"How is she, how is she?" He countered angrily "She's peachy keen, doing great." He wasn't going to divulge anything, and in a small way Chuck was grateful, the Blair he had left a day ago did not need to be altered for the worse in any way.

"You disgust me; you're not the man I thought you had become." He added, "You don't deserve her." The line went dead.

_Chuck finished packing while she sat in the kitchen, zipping up his last suitcase with uncertain hands. Dragging it off the bed he walked down the hallway, setting it carelessly on the marble. _

_"You could always come with me" Blair looked up from her hands, brushing at her nose with a napkin, "Two weeks in Paris, it would be romantic." He knew she would not, she could not, but if she knew he wanted her there, she would possibly forgive him. Let him touch her one last time, permit the filling of his nostrils with her Chanel and lilac scent, to be breathed in every dream he would have away from her._

_"I'm not talking to you, remember?"_

_"I'm going to talk anyways."_

_"Of course you are," she replied with copious disdain._

_He knelt beside her, ducking beneath the countertop "I love you." Reaching to brush a hair out of her mouth, she shuddered, turning away._

_"I asked you to leave me alone, please don't make this any harder." Drawing back slowly he nodded once in acknowledgment, rising to his feet "As you wish."_

Blinking hard several times the limo skidded to a stop in front of a hotel, a bellhop's gloved hand extending to open the door. Chuck ran from the car, evading the rain as best he could, ducking under an umbrella, shaking the dew from his scarf while the driver lifted suitcases from the trunk.

"Welcome to the Ritz Paris, how may I help you?" The concierge, a rather mousey looking woman, enquired from behind a large granite desk.

"Chuck, Chuck Bass." His eyes wandering across the lobby as the woman typed his name into the system.

"Ah Mr. Bass, Welcome." Thin lips curving into a faux smile, "May I have the pleasure of escorting you to the penthouse suite?" The customary line held secretive desire for the multi-millionaire standing before her, fresh green dollar signs with each step she took towards him, "Right this way."

Following unwillingly into the golden elevator, her manicured nail pressing the top floor, instantly he became irritated by the distasteful music flooding the tiny space as it hummed to life, moving upwards.

"Thank you" he purred, handing her a crisp bill as the doors opened to a white foyer, "If you need anything Mr. Bass, anything at all," she strongly offered as the doors clanked shut. _Not from you._

He immediately went in search of the bar, pouring a whisky upon its discovery, cringing as it burnt his tongue ... all alone with his liquor as every Bass man eventually was.

_Her body relaxed against his chest as he plucked her carefully from the floor, she had fallen asleep on the carpet in bitter contempt of his decision. Not usually the sort to pass out in anything other than silken pyjamas tucked between thousand count Egyptian cotton sheets. it was Blair's way of declaring a resentful war on his coarse, unloving actions, and he had quietly absorbed the message as her mouth lagged open against his arm._

_Upon pulling the covers over her, he pressed his lips to hers briefly before turning to exit the room. Her tiny hands reached up and pulled, with as much might as could be mustered, "Stay" she whispered, "Don't go." He twisted, crawling under the covers, "I love you too." She murmured, her mouth forcefully pressing against his in the darkness._

_In the morning he was gone, a cool imprint against the mattress was all the evidence his presence left._

* * *

**A/N:** A few tiny pieces should be clicking into place now (: Let me know what you think (if you have some time) questions, comments, just general feedback. It helped me to get this chapter up and off the ground so fast! Once again, thanks for reading/subscribing and reviewing ~


	6. When it snows

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl, just the specific story I choose to bring the characters into.

A/N: I was so busy these past few weeks but finally able to post this chapter (: Due to the chaos I wasn't quite on top of replying to reviews. Apologies! Happy reading ~

* * *

_Honey you are a rock  
Upon which I stand  
And I come here to talk  
I hope you understand  
Yeah the spotlight shines upon you  
And how could anybody deny you?  
I came here with a a load  
And it feels so much lighter  
Now I met you  
You're the one that I wanted to find__  
-- Coldplay_

**Chapter Six:**

_November 24th, 2011._

The sky was black and grey above her as she leaned against the grain limestone, stars sparkled like trapped jewels and sped into distances she could only imagine. Inside, the hotel room buzzed with handfuls of friends and Blair was who she needed to be among them, hiding away all her indiscretions. Nate and Serena had disappeared from her side minutes earlier and upon finding herself free of their watchful careful gaze she had eagerly escaped to the terrace, vodka bottle in hand.

Mesmerized by the lights of the city she undid the cap and took two large vulgar gulps, instantly her bones warmed as the breeze pulled at the loose tendrils around her face. For a moment she wondered how the sky looked above Chuck as he slept, how the aura of Paris guided his dreams - and then the moment was over and she was left in her finery, a strand of pearls at her throat and a bottle of true love at her waist. Alone.

"Blair?" She didn't bother turning as the door shut behind him. "Blair ... what are you doing out here?" She offered a forlorn glance at Mark as he rested his elbows on the railing, tilting her head to the sky "admiring the stars." She didn't care what he thought; she didn't care what anyone thought anymore. She could see his breath, white wispy clouds of vapour rolling out of his lips, a reminder of the winter cold.

"Tess is looking for you" he said; she could feel the heat of his eyes on her skin and a rush of satisfaction as she swallowed another mouthful. They stood in silence side by side, both exempt from the rowdy bliss of celebration. Blair felt no obligation to her friend's older brother and yet she offered him the bottle, their eyes met, his blue irises glowing in the dark, and he accepted her offer without question. Swallowing a fair amount and shaking his head as the bitter liquid made its way down his throat, "geez," he sputtered "That's strong."

She nodded once, taking it back as his hips rested against the railing. "Shouldn't you be filming me," she said bitterly "where's your camera?"

His gaze turned to the living room, "I didn't think you'd want your secret escape to be documented."

She laughed, rolling back on the balls of her feet "And what makes you think it's so secret?"

"Well ..." he trailed off, his ears were tipped pink, and she knew what he meant and he said nothing else on the subject. In that split second the way his tousled brown hair looked under the gleam of the stars above, whether it was the alcohol or simple acknowledgment, Blair was appreciative of his beauty - in the way only acquaintances could be.

"I'm not always like that" She cringed thinking back to the events of the morning, the impression she must have - not that it mattered.

_"_I know" he breathed, "Don't worry about it."

"I wasn't" she whispered, her voice gently carried away by the wind. Taking another swig she pushed it into his open palm, "Okay." And the conversation was ended, he was hardly a friend but she found herself resting her head on his shoulder, inhaling the overpowering scent of soap and fresh pine.

There was a click as the doorknob twisted and Tess poked her bleach blonde head out of the living room, indie rock radiating from the center of the chaos. Automatically they slid apart with guilt on their faces as if there was anything to be seen aside from two people and a near empty bottle.

* * *

Serena pushed past people in a state of panic, searching frantically for the familiar brunette locks and five inch heels in the crowd. She had turned her back for a moment to converse with the head chef and now as a procession of waiters with sprinklers preceded two cooks carrying a seven tier pink and black fondant cake, the girl in question was nowhere to be found.

"Blair?" She called, cupping her fingers over her mouth for distance "Come out come out wherever you are!" Everyone was watching. Waiting. Nate shook his head in bewilderment as he emerged from the bedroom. _No_ he mouthed, _she's not in there_. Serena grimaced, tripping over herself as the line of people set the cake cautiously on its table and a loud chorus of happy birthday began. She turned slowly, eyes narrowed, praying ... and before her was Blair.

Her hair about her shoulders in soft waves, a bright blue silhouette dress singed at the waist with black printed flowers along the hem and silver heels with white trim on her feet. The panic that pressed at her moments earlier dissolved into excitement as she pulled her best friend into a tight hug. "Happy birthday B!" She whispered into her ear, Blair pulled away from her grasp a meek smile returning the enthusiasm.

* * *

She knew it was coming, the big entrance the fabulous cake and if it were not for Mark and Tess she would have hidden in the shadows until the display was thoroughly complete. Unfortunately she had been found and dragged inside just as they set it on the table. Surrounded as she was by her classmates and friends, the candles all about them flickered and morphed shadows of black and yellow on their faces.

She took a deep breath, feeling the air as it filled her lungs and the automatic smile twisting her lips. Someone had initiated the song and she grit her teeth as seventy people looked at her with expectant eyes and beaming jovial claps of encouragement.

She blew out the candles, one for each year of her life (which covered the face of the cake) and realized at that moment how accomplished she should have been feeling. Instead she was glad it was over as she cut into the baked good and posed for pictures. Nobody would know she wasn't really smiling, no one would ever know that she wasn't really bursting with ardor. Every year she expected to feel different, as if a portion of her would shift. Waiting with bated breath until it was realized no such feeling would descend upon her; always waiting.

Taking a piece of cake into her mouth she slowly chewed on the fork, Serena was talking but it was foreign and quiet in comparison to the overhead hum of the gathering. She wanted her vodka back and a corner to huddle into.

* * *

Chuck had been pacing for an hour - the carpet beneath his feet looked a little worn and trampled with the movement but he couldn't help it. Thousands of miles away from him was his lover, and a few miles away from his lover was his apology, and it all collapsed into the hands of one rather idiotic assistant who's career rested wholly on the completion of this task to his employers liking.

He was stressed at this thought, of the million ways she could have grown to hate him in the days since he had seen her last. Not knowing whether or not she would forgive him - if she still held enough compassion inside herself to take him back into her heart as if he had never left. It was rather cold and distant outside her graces, far away from her touch, her lips, and he did not like the cold, he had never been fond of it.

The thought of her naked before him, wrapped in a bed sheet was enough to stir him from his sleep that night, disoriented and drowsy as he had risen from the mattress. Sipping at a glass of water he had watched the stars above him as they twinkled, the city below glowing dimly in comparison. He hated to be where she was not and yet he was always going where she could not follow.

* * *

How Serena managed to hear the doorbell over the extreme noise level was enough to astound Blair but evidently she had, as Nate guided her by the elbow towards the carpeted hallway to greet whoever had shown up way past the hours of tastefully late - not that such a rule even existed when Blair Cornelia Waldorf threw a party. You were either early or on time, there was no room for socially acceptable late or otherwise.

The disgust at this possibly large faux pas and its existence within the four walls of her birthday party, diminished upon finding Chuck's assistant slinking against the wall. Her eyes narrowed, a hiss and dismissal at the ready for whatever second hand apology or speech Erin was instructed to unleash.

"Ms. Waldorf," She raised her palm in a gesture of silence and looked away, both Nate and Serena frowned at her rude action and smiled pointedly at the small boy who's attire suggested he had been at some informal place - perhaps his home - before showing up at their suite. "What did he say to tell me that he told you?" She sighed, biting her lip and rolling her eyes at the two most irritating and pushy people she could ever know.

"Nothing, he just -" Erin's left hand reached out from behind his back and suddenly an extravagant bouquet of pink and red roses appeared, gripped firmly by his freckled arm "wanted me to give you these."

Smiling modestly he transferred the flowers to her hands before turning to Nate who disappeared into the crowd to show him to the door. Serena focused on Blair as she regarded the card, her lips in a thin line as she plucked the card from its silver stemmed clasp. From the folded paper a key slipped out and dangled by a blue ribbon that had been tied to the corner of the object.

She was utterly perplexed. In Chuck's elegant scrawl he had printed _Happy 20th birthday my love _and below these customary words there was an address carefully printed that she couldn't recall in any form. Pulling the ribbon from its secure hold on the card she handed it to Serena, brows furrowed as the metal fell into her palm awkwardly.

"What is it?" Serena questioned, curiously taking the card in her hands and skimming its contents. "I don't know S," Blair replied, cradling the metal and shifting her weight in thought "I think he bought me something big."

"Key big" Serena clarified.

Blair nodded swallowing loudly, unsure of how to take this present and its cryptic messages that made no sense. In typical Chuck fashion they always mounted to more than she could figure."Key big," she affirmed.

"Well B," Feeling Serena's arm as it hooked into her elbow "Let's go find out."

* * *

It was colder than she had taken notice as the three friends slipped out of the party that had been put under the watchful eyes of Elise and Tess and skipped downstairs into the awaiting town car. It had begun to snow just as they drove away from the lobby, white flecks dancing to the pavement under the orange glow of the streetlights as she settled anxiously into the leather seat.

Serena grasped Blair's hand, squeezing it lightly. She glanced up at Nate and he smiled, evidently as interested as his friends by the scrutiny in his eyes directed at the card in Serena's fingers, doubtful of its supposed magnificence. She wondered suspiciously if he knew something by the tense crinkle of the skin around his eyes as his gaze moved from the paper to the window and back again. It was silent around them and the only audible sound was the crunch of the tires as they passed over freshly fallen snow.

Minutes later the car stopped and everyone piled onto the sidewalk clumsily, Blair's eyes moved from the ground floor of the building all the way to the top, holding a gloved hand to the top of her hat as to not lose it to the dirty pavement. Snowflakes melted on her eyelashes as they made their way to the front door. Serena checked the panel for the correct apartment number while Nate and Blair held onto each other for warmth as the snowflakes increased in speed and size. An older doorman watched them lazily before getting to his feet and jaunting over to the group.

"May I help you?" He bellowed in a low authoritative tone.

"Actually," Blair chipped "I was given an address-to this building it seems." She looked over at Serena who handed over the card, stepping beside her best friend as the man took in the information.

He looked up with renewed interest "Ms. Blair Waldorf?" he asked, as though he had known her his entire life. She nodded, speechless at his inquiry and the sound of his voice as he spoke her name.

"Welcome to the Hamptons Harold, come with me" there was a gush of air as the front door was unlocked and opened. Serena and Blair walked briskly ahead of Nate as the doorman ushered them to an elevator, pressing the top floor once everyone had stepped into the lift.

"Mr. Bass told me to expect you tonight," he offered while they rode up.

"For what?"

"A viewing of the apartment" he answered with a laugh as though her question was the silliest most preposterous question of his career. She did not look up at her friends, afraid of what their glances would convey. Apartment? Chuck had bought an apartment for her?

"I see," and then the doors opened and the man stepped into a marble entryway. It was glorious, just the sight of the mudroom as her heels clicked against the stone floor towards the doors which opened into an enormous flat with bay windows. It was empty save for a few sculptures and paintings that she recognized from the suite lining the white walls, empty canvases to be filled. A grand staircase led up to a second floor.

"How many rooms?" She heard Serena ask as Nate walked into a hallway away from her gaze as she took everything in.

"Five, four and a half baths and maid quarters."

Blair moved out of her best friends grasp and ran towards the living room, the bathrooms, upstairs into the bedrooms, over to the bay windows, into the dry showers and maid quarters. She smiled. It was theirs and he had committed to this beautiful apartment that was away from his hotel, his suite, closer to NYU. They could build their life together. This was a promise he had made and kept, hopefully the first of many.

She was so happy it was pouring out of her.

* * *

Chuck reached for his cell as it rang on the table, flipping it open and pressing it to his ear.

"I love you" she exclaimed breathlessly, and he felt calm wash over him once more.

"I love you too."

"It's snowing" She said gently, "It's beautiful."

"You're beautiful" his voice was gruff, "Happy birthday Waldorf."

"Thank you." He could hear her struggling to hold back tears and his empty arms ached to hold her.

"It's yours to decorate"

"It better be" she laughed.

"Don't go crazy with it though."

"Am I ever anything but tasteful and modest?" She parried.

"Tasteful yes" he agreed, "Modest on the other hand ..."

"Chuck!"

"What? You are _incredibly modest _dear."

"I know I am" she stated haughtily, "Which works out perfectly since I happen to be madly in love with a very dashing man."

* * *

**A/N**: You guys are amazingly great! Questions, comments, general feedback?


	7. Tears dry on their own

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl, just the specific story I choose to bring the characters into.

* * *

_Next thing I know, we're touching.  
-- Ellie Goulding_

**Chapter Seven:**

Blair was exhausted as she finished stacking the dishwasher. She realized though that she was comforted by the stillness of everything in the night. For the past ten years it had always felt like there was never enough time in the day to just be - and as a mother she had to take what little time she could. With the latch on the dishwasher firmly secured, she moved to stand up, catching her reflection in the window pane.

In an hour she would be at the dinnertable in a place she hadn't been to in years. It was the same penthouse she had eagerly attempted to carve a life of the floorboards with, in hopes that it would help to better define _Chuck and Blair the couple_. Why did he have to live there still, rebuild atop the ashes of their failed romance? She thumbed the crumpled paper in her jacket pocket with the directions scribbled on it - as though she might not remember - when she could hardly forget.

It was so long ago but why then did it only feel like yesterday? She inched closer to the window tracing the hint of laugh lines around her lips, examining the femininity that softened her. The planes of her face and the high cheek bones, features her daughter would one day inherit.

"Blair," she twirled quickly towards Mark, "ready to go?"

Would she ever be ready for this? There was nothing more she could do except smile and wish away the night until she was safely home. She grinned and closed the distance between them, looping her arm in the crook of her husbands elbow.

As Mark drove over the bridge she focused on the shadows that stretched along the interior of the range rover. Eventually she resorted to counting the passing cars, the grey clouds, anything to keep herself calm.

"When will the kids be back?" He asked, just as they entered Manhattan.

She had to think for a moment, step around the murky waters of her memory.

"Soon, the play should be over in twenty minutes or so." The twins had been taken to "Peter Pan" with Dorota an hour earlier, amidst much indecision on how to spend the evening without their parents.

Mark was just as nervous as his wife, although for entirely different reasons, and the rest of the journey was spent in a humming silence of anxiety. A buisness deal had to be closed before the end of their visit. It was something to anchor his cause firmly to the ground and he couldn't have been more visibly concerned about accidentally loosing the prospect.

They entered the lobby of the building together as Blair tried, without success, to stiffle the small flicker of excitement that bolted through her veins. All around her was the sorrow of passed years. She had crossed this same lobby so many times before - it was like entering a faded memory - breathing life into it again.

It felt as though she were staring at a broken toy that communicated, in the way it was damaged, all the days in which it had once been loved.

She thought of all the things she would rather be doing – that she _would_ be doing – right at this moment as a butler took her coat, which she parted with reluctantly. In her dress she felt as though it weren't enough, like Chuck would be able to see every part of her regardless.

Mark kissed her, his lips were dry she noticed, as she skirted his teeth with her tongue. She wanted to inflate him with the confidence he needed, if he had weakness in this moment how could she be strong?

"Mark, good to see you," they broke apart hastily; Blair rubbed her thumb across the smeared lipstick on her chin, rubbing away the indescretion, "Coming from Brooklyn I thought you might be a little late."

Chuck made no sudden movements towards them; he stood in the doorframe, a tumbler between his fingers. She wasn't sure she could bring herself to say anything. It was like he had frozen the moment and she could see everything only with reflective thought.

Mark blushed lightly, embarrassed at being caught in such an intimate exchange.

"Yes well, we left early."

His hand dropped to her shoulder and secured itself on her lower back, a gesture that made her shutter instinctively for the first time in her life.

A thick disconcerting aroma of expensive perfume had applied itself like static electricity to the air around them. As they were led further into the living-room, Blair recognized the painful amounts of familiarity surrounding her. And then, as it was, she first laid eyes on Mrs Bass.

"Blair Hutlen!" the woman grinned wildly, her eyes half hidden under what could only be described as the most hideous hat that could ever be seen. She looked around; breathing in the penthouse she had once loved with every cell in her body.

It hadn't changed as much as she expected, there were still hints of her touch on the walls, in the furniture, of their love that had wasted away like stale affection. Blair wondered if this were merely an oversight on Chuck's behalf or if he had purposely left it this way. A partial museum, the crumbling dedication to the one thing they had both counted on for so many years.

Each other.

The woman rose to her feet rather clumsily, probably due to the spandex that wound around her thighs tightly. "I'm Abigail Bass, and I am beyond honoured to have _the_ Blair Hutlen in our home!" Her name was uttered in a type of squeal reserved for fangirls and concert-goers but she managed to stiffle the scowl that threatened to cross her features.

Blair looked her over, the blonde hair that coiled around her neck and the American Apparel dress she was trying to pass for couture. She wondered where Charles had found her, at the five and dime, maybe McDonalds?

She smiled politely and watched as her husband took a seat across from Chuck, not two feet from this awkward embrace she had been caught in.

"Hello …" she searched for something further to say, "I must say Abigail, that is a rather beautiful hat." It was the perfect compliment to drain the intensity. She couldn't concentrate with Chuck's heated gaze on her back; it was as though he was burning holes through her dress.

It took three martinis before she could actually formulate thoughts beyond panic. Too far away from the situation to even regard the danger that lingered behind the brown eyes that remained glued to her every gesture.

In the first half-hour she dared not look over at him but as the alcohol soaked into her veins she became bold in her exploration. The conversation had turned into a business discussion that left both wives bored and distracted.

For the most part the evening had been bearable. Only in the stolen movements, the loving way Abigail leaned into Chuck's shoulder, the way he grazed her ear with his lips, did a faint feeling of stomach sickness creep up her throat.

She was almost worried about dry heaving every day they spent together, every secret she kept tucked in her heart, onto the carpet.

"So, I hear that you know my husband from school?" Abigail said after a while, trying as best she could to maintain some kind of narrative between them.

Blair shifted against the couch; she shook her hand free from the cushion and placed it on her lap. Where to begin and what exactly to say? She shot a glance at Chuck who seemed amused in her struggle to announce something non-commitally.

_This is what you wanted,_ his eyes told her,_ I haven't said anything._

How easy then it would have been to be honest, _we were lovers once … and now we aren't._

"Mm, I do –"

"It has been a while," Chuck said, "Years."

Mark leaned forward, clearly interested in this exchange, "Ah, someone who knew Blair as a kid. Perhaps you could tell me then what she refuses to talk about!"

Her eyes slid towards the door, she wanted to run home, bury her nose in the pillows on her bed and never speak to Chuck Bass again.

"It seems too long ago now," he sighed, "I feel terribly old." She watched as Abigail's hand slide up the arm of his suit to rest on his shoulder, she wanted to swat it away. Wait – what? As if to remind herself of his presence, Mark curved his hand further around the back of her hip.

"She never talks about her past," Mark admitted, his smile warm against her ice cold stare.

She sipped at remains of the martini in her hand and placed it less than gracefully on the coaster, resolving not to drink any more.

"If you'll excuse me," she didn't want to hear any more of the banter that circled her. "I just need to go freshen up."

Mark released his grasp on her as she stood, shaking out her hair as it hung around her shoulders in thick curls. Everyone looked up and for a split second she watched Chuck as he looked at her, daring him to stare. In a heartbeat she turned and started towards the hall, stopping mid-step when she realized that she wasn't supposed to know where to go.

"It's down the hall, fourth door from the left" Abigail called, "Dinner will be served in about seven minutes."

Good. She needed to fill her stomach with something other than vodka and olives, maybe then her senses would return.

* * *

Chuck didn't know how he had managed to hold it together for the past fourty-minutes. It were as though he was about to unravel - surely by now - at the sight of Blair drunk and aching to be elsewhere. Honestly, he didn't know how he kept a straight face, to feel less of how she felt as he watched her leave the room.

He counted in his head, waiting out the regular amount of time before making an excuse to depart from the conversation. He didn't have to look for her to know where she would be, he could feel it in his bones and smell her on his clothing. Even though they hadn't come within three feet of each other all night her scent had been imprinted on him since the day they had met.

It was a hunger that he feared he had lost the day they broke up - for more than food, more than his wife - for everything that Blair had been, could ever be and currently was.

He slowed at the door, closing his eyes against the cold metal of the frame as she sobbed into her hands. There would be no right time to interject, to split the moment into two distinct emotions. Blair looked up, her big brown eyes searing his own and it was the tug he needed to fall apart. In two long strides he was in front of her and on his knees, not entirely sure of his own intentions.

"Blair," She flinched as he pushed her hair away from her face, "What's wrong?" He enclosed her in his arms, inhaled her in greedy gulps. He was trying to soak in as much of her as he could, if they never had another second alone together he wanted to remember every detail. It would have to be enough to sustain him for the next twenty years. She buried her face into his suit and draped an arm over his shoulder. They were simple gestures that held more meaning than years of marriage to Abby.

"I -" she cleared her throat, "Why didn't you move? Why did you have to keep it like this?" He opened his mouth to say something, to answer, but nothing came out.

_I can't let you go even after all this time._

That would sound too much like a cheesy novel or a bad movie, it wasn't what he wanted to express nor what he needed to say. She smelt strongly of vodka and of the martini's she had been drinking. She was drunk enough, beyond the point of caring whether or not either of their spouses walked in on them.

He could give a_ damn_ about Abigail, but he knew that Blair needed Mark. Her husband - the man who had been taking care of her - loving her and probably doing a better job of it than Chuck could ever have done. He would always love her and always need her but he wasn't what she wanted anymore.

Her lips were soft against his neck at first, like she was asking a question - uncertian of the answer.

He didn't even need to think, lifting her chin to his own, the force of her lips against his own almost knocking him flat on the floor. There was an urgency to their movements, a fluid motion of knowing that they were doing something wrong - in the middle of a bedroom where it had always been considered right. How many times had they slept together under this very roof where they were now huddled in the shadows?

Then she broke away from him with a heavy defeated sigh, "I can't do this."

Blair stood up and walked to the door, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. "I wish I could hate you" she said, "And that you could deserve it."

With those words she left. He watched her heels click against the hardwood as she got further away from where he was crouched. He ran a hand through his hair, he was confused and utterly flustered with an emotion he had not felt in years. It had always been a silent understanding that they had fallen out of love, that there was nothing he could have done to get it back, but then why did every part of him ache to hold her in his arms again?

Minutes passed before he got off of his knees and left the bedroom, closing the door quickly. He brushed a finger to his lips, the taste of Blair still fresh in his mouth, of alcohol and lust. Her words stuck in his head, floating around without enough explanation.

_I wish I could hate you and that you could deserve it_, but didn't he?

* * *

**A/N:** _MERRY CHRISTMAS! _Sorry for any mistakes if there are any, I produced this chapter really quickly and didn't even go through my beta before posting. I hope you liked it and that you drop a review if you have some time because that would just be epic.


	8. House of jealous lovers

Disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl, just the specific story I choose to bring the characters into.

A/N: Fast update for me (gasp) but anyway I need to clear up some time-line issues. Alright, so in regards to the flashbacks - if it a specific date is mentioned at the top of the scene (such as in chapters 5 & 6) then the entire chapter (unless otherwise specified) is a flashback. I doubt I will do whole chapter flashbacks anymore but we shall see. Also, the scenes that are entirely in _italics _are memories (where the date is not at the top) it is simply because the date and time is irrelevant to the story but important to character development. Those scenes that are important by way of date and time will always have marks at the top of them. Everything that happens between Chuck/Blair in the flashbacks occurs between 2009-2010 unless otherwise specified.

PS. At first I wasn't going to extend the previous scene but it was itching to be written and so sometimes you have to ignore your chapter outlines! I couldn't have found the inspiration to write so quickly if it weren't for my fabulous reviewers and I'd like to extend thank-you's not only to those who did so for the last chapter but also the 'regulars.' You know who you are (; This chapter is unbeta'd - apologies in advance for any distracting errors if there are any.

* * *

_I love you  
I hate you  
I love you  
I hate you  
I can't keep my hands off you.  
If you think that I'll let you go  
you're out of your mind.  
-- Frou frou__  
_

**Chapter Eight:**

Chuck stood against the wall, his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was an odd sight for Abigail to come across as she stopped in front of him, the taffeta material on her dress swishing with each step.

"Charles, Chuck –"He didn't want to be interrupted, especially by her, the square face and small eyes that conveyed nothing.

He blinked, moving away from the hallway but not any closer to the bedroom and its closed door. She smiled but it was faint, daggers drawn in her eyes, as she threaded her hand through his.

"Where have you been – and," it was almost as an afterthought, "where's the champagne you went to grab?"

He dropped a hand to her waist, buying time to think of an excuse, how long had he been with Blair? It felt like mere seconds, but the best things in life seemed shorted in comparison to everything else.

"I got sidetracked." She watched his mouth, saw the pink shade of his cheeks then slowly, as though she were thinking over every word, "Never mind then. The first course is already being served; we can't leave our guests alone too long."

His head was throbbing with the utter reality of seeing Blair so soon after their quickened intimacy; knowing the torture in having to bear public moments with her.

Why did he have to do this to himself, could he not just leave things as they were? He had been selfish in initiating something that was surely plaguing her with guilt.

He imagined her sitting at the table, unable to look at him, to see the man who forced his love upon her like a one way street.

She was drunk – he had taken advantage – whether or not she kissed him back it didn't matter. He suddenly hated the way he had gone about her, as if he belonged in her life. Chuck hardly gave thought to what it would mean now, if there would even be enough space for him.

For five minutes of nothing, of silence and forlorn stares, a kiss better left hollow, Blair had provoked the eighteen year old boy in him. At her fingertips he was a fish on dry land – flopping helplessly – between what he wanted and what he already had.

What he had given up in the series of choices that had ultimately led away from her.

Abigail tugged him by the hand through the apartment and into the dinning room. He dragged his feet across the hardwood and tripped over the lip of the dinning-room threshold. Maybe he had under-estimated his own alcohol consumption.

She made him a lousy drunk, a lousy liar and a man who wanted her with all he had, couldn't she see it in his eyes, the way he moved? He had always needed her to be his.

Sauntering into the room, his hands in his pockets, Chuck sat down at the table. In earnest he was careful to avoid glancing over at Blair who hadn't looked up from her wine glass. The long pale lashes, her breathing, he concentrated on anything to assure his insecurities that she wasn't just going to leave.

"Hey Chuck, I was just telling your wife about the contract."

He shot a look at Abby, "What? I'm interested in what you do baby." He rolled his eyes.

All around him the air crackled with ignorance and he was all too familiar with the practice. On the Upper East Side there was nothing more clear to it's patrons than the nature of action. If you pretended something didn't exist, and you were convincing enough, there was little resistance to be met with.

The complex web of attraction between them had melted down into a singular word and thrown atop the accumulated pile. Behind closed doors there was nothing more to be found than faded memories and ripped pictures.

* * *

Blair was squeezing Mark's hand so hard beneath the table that he managed to wriggle out of her grasp, his fingers purple, with a low wince of pain. Her heart was beating wildly against her ribcage and she feared that, if nothing else, her own body would give her away.

Surely Mark would look into her eyes and know what she had done, feel her guilt like a blow to the head and leave her forever. Her skin crawled at the thought, how could she have jeopardized everything?

A fleeting jaunt down memory lane, another man's lips pressed against hers and she had transgressed, turning into a thoughtless teenager as though it were natural. And for the first time in ten years, Blair felt the distinct knowledge of putting her marriage and her children at risk, as something she could hardly control.

The force of love, the sprouting strangle of lust was something she thought she had overcome. A lesson learned that didn't need to repeated. Expecting to trust herself around a man she could never trust years earlier with the naivety of a sixteen year old.

Her life was like being in a dark room, alone and shuffling along the walls trying to find the light switch. She was stumbling over herself – and had nothing planned – it was all just figuring itself out as she went along.

Mark was biting into a piece of chicken, his slender arms holding the fork at his lips, the same lips she had kissed every day for so many years. The man she had promised herself to, the man she trusted, who was currently engrossed in conversation with the man she had once given herself wholly too.

Was there much of a difference anymore?

Straightening into the back of her chair she lowered her eyes to the plate and began picking away at the half-cold dinner. As if she could, in any way, she tried to comfort herself with the notion that everyone was entitled to a mistake now and again.

It was fleeting warmth in the cold of night.

That's all her and Chuck had ever been, a mistake clear and pure, right?

Mark's cell phone rang so close to her hand that rested on his thigh she jumped. He cast a passing look at the ID before accepting the call. Quickly he excused himself from the table, disappearing into the kitchen.

Chuck's eyes followed her every move while Abby – ever observant – rested her head on his shoulder. Blair smiled, swallowing the last bite of steak hard.

There was silence, an agonizing quiet that stretched across the room and worried her. The emptiness that surrounded Chuck, the thoughts and emotions spinning around the room like spoken words.

She knew then what she had refused to accept, one day it would all fall out of orbit and crash to the ground.

"Blair," Mark poked his head out of the kitchen, "it's the kids."

Maybe that time was now; her grip on the wine glass loosened. She was still, careful not to breathe too quickly should she scream. Hadn't Dorota been instructed to not let them call tonight? Apparently not.

Everyone was staring, waiting for her to move. And in the moment it took to lose herself she was found, flashing a gracious smile.

"Will you excuse me?" With those words she got up and walked towards Mark, taking the phone from his hand.

There was no reason to worry. She had fished herself out of oblivion, clawed out of the dreamy film that layered over plates of food and glasses of wine. Her husband was reality, her children were her life.

Chuck had given her everything, nothing they had done together had been so much of a mistake that it didn't matter – even now.

They would always have that – even if he didn't know the full extent of it – she loved him only as she could, the way she needed to. They would forever be joined by the past, the same thing that now separated them.

* * *

There it was, the reason one Chuck Bass needed – funny it wasn't what he thought it would be – but it was there none the less. The reason was real and alive and a plural which meant more than one.

He should have known better, there was always something if you looked hard enough; he just hadn't been looking closely.

Blair was a _mother_, she had _children_ and although he considered himself a ruthless business man he was everything but someone who would tear apart a marriage like that.

His thoughts were poached by Abby's excited squeal as Mark and Blair walked back into the room, taking their seats.

"You have children? Oh how wonderful!"

All of the colour drained from Blair's face, she fiddled momentarily with a fork. Mark shifted in his chair, happy and oblivious to his wife's obvious discomfort.

"Aha yes we do," he said proudly.

Chuck narrowed his eyes, how many late nights and early mornings had he spent in previous years with a feeling that one day he would be the father of Blair's children?

"How many? "Abby asked, "If you don't mind me asking."

Mark grabbed Blair's hand and she looked down at his arm with a sigh, barely detectable on its own.

"Twins," he said, "a boy and a girl."

"Twins – oh wow – that must be a lot of work."

Mark looked over at Blair who remained tight lipped and still, Chuck could see that he was wondering why she hadn't said anything – asking her in the unseen gestures between man and wife - what was wrong.

"Yes well we don't have a nanny; Blair's a stay at home mom."

It was like trying to fit the wrong puzzle piece into the right spot, realizing that with another try it would fit perfectly into the picture.

"No we don't," she finally looked up, her eyes on her husband before turning towards Abby, "and it's worth every second."

There was something he wasn't catching, something in her eyes that he couldn't see properly. Her eyes passed over him as though he were invisible, as though she were trying to keep something quiet.

He guessed it was embarrassment at having to discuss the real way in which she had moved on, the roots she had grown elsewhere, and he was overcome with the strong urge to hold her.

Chuck wanted nothing but her happiness and if this was it then he would take it and hold it close – protect it for her at any cost.

"Their names are Tula and Henry and their eight." He tuned into the conversation long enough to pick that up. Abby had been firing off questions for two minutes straight without abandon.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrogating" Abby lamented, "it's just that Chuck and I are trying to have a baby."

Another indecipherable look passed through Blair's features, she tightened her hold on Mark's hand and looked towards the window. How he wished he could know what she was thinking, know how she felt in that moment, _see Blair_? _I'm moving on too - you're not the only one._

_

* * *

_

_He must have seen this movie at least seventy times in the last four years; he knew the dialogue, caught all the references and had been to all the very same monuments. __What puzzled him was not beyond what the movie meant or how well he knew it but why, after so many hours logged in watching it, Blair still seemed uncertain of the plot._

_She settled further into his arms, popping a few kernels in her mouth, then, just as Gregory Peck put his hand in the "Mouth of truth" she held her breath, as though she didn't know the outcome by heart, and shreiked as he pulled it out, apparently handless._

_And for a moment she too pretended to be as shocked as Audrey Hepburn before Peck revealed his practical joke with a few haughty laughs. She giggled at her own reaction, looked at Chuck and went back to munching on popcorn and tracing shapes on his shoulder. _

_By the end of it, Blair was crying and in the darkness, her tears looked like droplets of diamonds, rolling off her cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of his hands in hasty movements, leaning into her hair, "You okay Waldorf?" _

_"Yes" she sighed, just as the credits started to roll, eyes still glued to the screen, "I'm fine Chuck. This movie always gets me emotional, you know that."_

_"Why?" He asked, his lips resting on her cheek, "You know she doesn't end up with him."_

_She turned, her eyes searching his own, "I'm not crying because it's sad. I'm happy for them because it happened and I know that it's just a movie but whatever."_

_"You've seen 'Roman Holiday' so many times Blair, I don't get how it always surprises you."_

_"I don't know" She said, "It sounds kind of stupid but – no – never mind."_

_"What"_

_"It's just – oh it's so stupid – but I always think it's going to have a different ending. Like she'll just get up and go with him because that's what she wants."_

_"Is that what you'd do?"_

_She smiled, there was nothing but the sound of their breath, "If it were you then yes." With that he kissed her, none the more enlightened on the subject but evermore in love with the girl who's favourite movie involved a foreign princess._

_And they made love while the movie repeated - neither willing to stand up and turn it off._


	9. Eyes wide shut

**Disclaimer: **As per usual, I do not own Gossip Girl or it's characters, simply the world I put them into.

A/N: This chapter sort of felt like pulling teeth, it came very slowly, but here it is. Again, I have yet to contact my beta because I've just been wanting to get these chapters posted quickly for you guys (since I had a long, long, hiatus) which means that it probably has a couple of errors that no amount of re-reading can fully weed out. I'm also going to be totally shameless right now and encourage you to read my new story, "Rains in Paris" Check it out if you have some time! Anyway, the next few chapters are going to be more 'GASP!' than the others. Hopefully you enjoy it! Reviews are looooved and very, very appreciated. Happy reading (:

* * *

_I don't see what anyone can see in anyone else but you.  
-- The mouldy peaches_

**Chapter Nine:**

With a brief look upwards, Blair was instantly still, acutely aware of the quiet that skirted throughout the house. She tilted her head to the side, Mark still busy with dinner preparation, and quieted her own movements as to detect any echoing of sound.

The last ten minutes had been spent in an almost complete silence …

Stepping away from her perch in the kitchen, Blair slowly walked towards the hallway, intent on hearing anything that might calm the thrumming anxiety that ran through her veins.

The twins, unless previously instructed, were almost always deafening in every day activity. With the consistency of fights and competition and the utter chaos of their schedules, there was hardly a second to hear ones own voice over the racket. It was enough, at times, to rival Madison Square Gardens during one of their nosier concerts.

It was the quiet that held itself against Blair's ribcage tightly. Knowing Tula and Henry, they could very well be up to no good.

The little traits were the ones she most recognized in them. Miniscule actions and habits that told her they were nothing short of what their parents had once been.

Chuck and Blair.

With a Waldorf heart and a Bass charm they were destined to pick up something of the combined past that had led to their very creation.

Blair made her way up the stairs; skimming the wall with her fingertips as she poked her head into Tula's bedroom – empty.

There was nothing but the sound of her own breath and the beating of her heart, as she leaned into Henry's doorway, finding her children flat on their stomachs in a sea of crayons.

Henry looked up from his drawing at the rustling of her footsteps, "Hi mom."

With a smile, Blair walked into the bedroom, pushing away several aqua and yellow crayons with her heel, to sit cross-legged in front of them.

"My darlings," she sighed. "What on earth are you doing being so quiet! Isn't there homework to be done and a racket to be made?"

The tingling fear that spread through her like wildfire had broken itself down into dust. Her children were safe and sound and definitely not snooping about.

"No," Tula drawled, her eyes trained to the picture she was creating. "We wanted to work on pictures for Auntie Serena, Uncle Nate and Auntie Tess."

Blair nodded in understanding, peeking at the pages upside down.

"When's dinner?" Henry inquired. His crayon paused in mid-air as he looked up at his mother.

"Soon," Blair replied. She stood up, bent down to give each of them a kiss on the cheek and started towards the hall. "Both of you need to clean this mess up before Alexander gets here," She called over her shoulder.

"Bu—"Tula began to protest.

"No 'buts'. If you don't clean up your crayons and put them away, neither of you will be ready for dinner. And I'm sure you'd rather be eating with everyone, right?"

"Yes," They answered in unison. The clack and crinkle of crayons and paper quickly followed her instruction, filling the gaps of silence as she returned to the kitchen and the task she had been trying to complete.

Tough love was always the most difficult aspect of parenting, especially when they worked as a team. Henry batting his lashes and lowering his eyes to the floor in a feigned innocence of whatever he might have done, Tula's eyes shining bright, that same smirk on their faces …

She could hardly stand her ground.

An hour later, as Blair poured over a page of math homework in a way Henry could understand, the doorbell rang.

Tula, who had been upstairs deciding upon her dinner outfit, descended the stairs in a simple white dress with a red ribbon tied into her hair.

"You look beautiful my love," Blair praised as she moved into the foyer, putting a stray hair in its place beneath Tula's headband. "Just like a princess."

Tula lit up at this, her favourite book of all time (meaning the last two months) had been the paper bag princess. When they watched Cinderella, an almost weekly routine by now, Tula would hold her breath just as the prince first spotted Cinderella across the ballroom.

Almost like she didn't expect the two characters to fall in love, but the sigh of relief always came when they did and the story carried on as she knew it would.

It reminded Blair of her expertise in Audrey movies, and the hours in which, she had poured over the fairy tale of black-and-white films with a desiring sigh.

Henry strolled up. "Did you put the books away darling?" She asked, running a hand through his hair.

"Yes mom."

The doorbell rang again, "Hey let us in! It's f-f-reezing out here!"

Blair had almost entirely forgotten about the door, which she unlocked and quickly opened with an apologetic laugh, "Sorry. We thought you might be –"

"Dr Evil!" Henry interjected with excitement. He had just watched an Austen Powers movie with Mark a few days prior, against Blair's wishes, and had since taken every verbal opportunity to let everyone know that he'd seen one.

The trio drifted off to the side as Nate, Serena and Alex shuffled through the door. It slammed shut as Serena peeled off her son's scarf and jacket and started undoing her own. Nate laughed and ruffled up Henry's hair, "Very funny, Ry."

The twins immediately hugged him as he opened his arms. Nate nearly toppling to the floor in the embrace.

Blair moved towards Alexander. He stood, a little uncertain, on the sidelines. She kneeled down and pulled him into a hug, "Hey you."

"Hi Auntie Blair," Alex was just a year and a half younger than the twins and as beautiful as his parents. With a thick head of blonde hair and Serena's piercing blue eyes it wouldn't be long before he'd be the ladies man of New York City.

Mark appeared behind her, dropping his hand to her waist as she rose, pecking him on the cheek. He raised the other hand for Alex, who high-fived it with considerable strength and ran into his arms, "Uncle Mark!"

Blair locked eyes with Serena who flashed a tiny smile. Her eyes falling towards Tula, who had situated herself behind her mother's legs - just like she had done as a toddler – peeking out from behind Blair's thigh shyly.

"Hi Alex," She muttered, as Blair guided her forward. "Hi," he talked almost as quietly as she had. Henry turned and whispered something into Alex's ear, to which, Alex nodded quickly, "Okay!"

"Come on Tula." He motioned for her to follow as they stood at the bottom of the stairs. She looked once towards Blair, who grinned and prodded her in the back, and then the three children ran up the staircase, disappearing from view.

"Sorry we're late B," Serena said as they were drawn into a group hug. "Traffic was bad."

Blair pulled away and hooked her elbow through theirs, guiding the three of them into the kitchen. Having a chance to catch up with old friends was seemingly rare, and she cherished these moments like the precious diamonds they were.

Traditionally, the three "non-judging breakfast clubbers" got together once a week for Saturday night dinner and dessert, but for the last month schedules couldn't manage to co-ordinate. Serena had been bogged down in every live hour with work and Alex, while Nate had been out of the country on business.

As they entered the kitchen Nate handed Mark, a bottle of wine in a paper bag. "Sorry man, they were all out of white wine."

Mark took the bag, slid the paper down from the bottle, glanced at the label and let out a chuckle. "Red wine is great. We can get stark drunk on this, cheaply but thoroughly."

Blair laughed, swatting her husband's shoulder.

All around them was the heavy aroma of gourmet food. One thing she absolutely adored Mark for was his definite ability to make a damned good meal.

And whenever he did she praised him as such, because she had never been much good at anything but ordering take-out. Even then, it sometimes stood to get complicated.

"So," Blair sat in chair at the dinning-room table, "S, what have you been up to?"

"Just the usual," Serena sighed, sitting down. "Alex was accepted into Sacred Heart, early admission for next year."

"Really?" Blair rested her chin above her hands. She wondered if this was the '_big announcement'_ the Archibald's had promised tonight. "That's so great! When does he start?"

"September, but I don't think he's that excited." Serena rolled her eyes, "Whatever. This is the necessary step. Nate wants me to keep him in public school, '_let him be rounded'_, but that's just ridiculous."

Blair looked over at Nate who stood in the kitchen. He was talking to Mark, gesticulating largely with his hands.

"We all went to private school and we ended up fantastically, didn't we S?"

Serena grinned, "As great as could be expected anyway."

* * *

Chuck shot up from his pillow in a cold sweat. His eyes searched the darkness of his bedroom as he sat up, rubbing the sweat from his brow. The dream had seemed so real. He needed to be outside. Abby was fast asleep as he slipped into a pair of loafers and slung a housecoat over his shoulders.

There was nothing he needed more than to breathe fresh air, empty his thoughts.

In two weeks he would be in Tokyo, on the other side of the planet. And the only thing he could think of was _Blair. _Wherever he went, whatever he did she was there with him. Seeing her had unlocked a part of him that he had hidden beneath the thickness of memory.

To think of her as he had for the last eight years, every second of every day, was less painful to him than the images that flowed through his mind now. Of her marriage, her subsequent children, the concrete facts that blatantly explained their years apart in reasonable actions.

As the elevator reached the lobby Chuck fished his cell phone from the folds of his pocket.

"Erin -- yes, I know what time it is -- just get me Mark Hutlen's address."

* * *

Nate stood up, casting a glance at the table before him. Everyone looked up from their plates, hands in their laps, waiting patiently for his announcement. Serena grabbed his hand and flashed a smile at Blair, who felt a sliver of worry plant itself in her stomach.

"This dinner is absolutely fantastic; you guys seriously pull these things off, like, amazingly."

Serena had told her over the phone, a day previous, that they had major news to share over dinner. And, despite Blair's best efforts at drawing it out of them, both parties had remained equally tight-lipped until this very moment.

"Really," Serena added. "It's always just fantastic."

Mark threaded his fingers through Blair's, a pinkish tint to his cheeks.

"And we just wanted to tell everyone that there's going to be a new addition to the Archibald family come June!"

Everyone clapped and Blair exclaimed, "So you finally finished the paperwork?"

Serena smiled with a nod, "But it did take two years!"

They had been looking to adopt ever since Alexander's fifth birthday. The countless interviews, recommendations and rigorous processing, had done little to deter them from their goal. In little over two months the twins would have a new baby cousin.

After the congratulations had been done, the handshakes, back-slaps and encouraging smiles resting around the table, the conversation started to drift.

"So, Mark," Nate began, "I talked to Emory the other day, he told me about your new deal."

"Ah yes," Mark leaned back into his chair, sipping at a glass of wine. "We just finalized it the other day."

"With Charles Bass, yes?" Blair despised lawyers, and their constant need to converse with one another.

"Mmm."

"Why didn't you fax me the papers? I would have looked them over for you."

"Thanks Nate, but I didn't want to ruin your lovely vacation. See much aside from the boardroom?"

"Hardly," Nate bellowed. "I did, however, get to drive past the leaning tower of Pisa for two weeks."

"How exciting," Mark joked.

Serena looked up from her perch next to Alexander. "Chuck Bass, you said? I think I've heard of him before." Her words were double-edged as she burned holes through Blair's reserve.

Mark draped an arm over the back of his wife's chair. "He went to school with you, didn't he darling?"

Blair dropped her eyes to the empty ice cream bowl in front of her, "I told you already, yes."

"Oh?" Nate feigned surprise, "Interesting."

A pact had been made, a promise breathed in the folds of the past. she wondered if they had forgotten, the way they were prodding at her, secrets spilling across the table in a quiet crawl.

"Yes Nate," She defended, "You were friends with him, you should know."

"Anyway," Serena yelled over her husband, mouth poised to retort, "How did that go?"

"We had a great time."

Blair shot up, starting to collect the empty bowls littering the table. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and piled everything into the sink, safely detached from the conversation at hand. If she didn't think about Chuck, if she left him in the past, it was easier than acknowledging his existence as a part of her life.

As half of her children, as a consistent piece of her heart.

Mark. He was just as much a part of her as she was a part of him. They had grown together, loved together, learned together. It all mattered and yet it didn't, underneath everything was the solid basis of secrecy, things he didn't know.

Whispers that would destroy their relationship and rightfully so. The day they had gotten married she had known that there was only so much of herself she could give, fragments of something more that belonged somewhere else entirely. She wished now that she had told him then, given him the choice, but she had been so scared, pregnant and alone.

He would blame her and she would shoulder the blame.

For years they had lived in Brooklyn without a single mention of the Basshole. And, all of the sudden she couldn't go five minutes without hearing about him, everywhere she went, anything she did, he was there with her. It was infuriating. Chuck's recent intrusion on her life had been kept from Nate and Serena for fear of the questions they would raise, the answers they would want, when she had yet to think of any.

And now they were hearing all about it.

* * *

Chuck leaned against the cool leather of the limo as they drove towards the Brooklyn Bridge. He had relied solely on the silence in the car to buy him an excuse, a reason for showing up at Blair's doorstep at eleven forty-five on a Saturday night. So far, nothing had come to mind.

The lights of the city passed and faded as they entered Brooklyn. Why had she moved here? Had the past really been enough for Blair Waldorf to trade in her Upper East Side childhood for a life of a bohemian chic who donned woolly, hand-made mittens and complained about modern art?

No. She was still the same Blair he had loved for the past eight years. In her tiny black dress, Manolo's and perfectly pinned-back hair, there was nothing more beautiful than her pale face and long black lashes. Even still, he had noticed the night of the dinner, that she wore an identical red lipstick that had once left stains on a number of shirts he currently kept in the furthermost corners of his closet.

This was crazy, what was he thinking?

"Mr Bass," the driver's voice rose from the front seat as the car slowed to a stop, "We're here sir."

He gazed, eyes lidded, out the tinted windows at the brownstone across the street. All the lights were out except for a dimmed glow in one of the smaller windows.

It did little to rest the nagging voice in the back of his mind, telling him that there was more to be seen than what the surface presented.

But what could it be?

"Back to the house now Timothy, I've seen enough."

"Alright sir." Chuck watched the darkness swallow Blair's street as they moved back onto the freeway. There was one thing he knew – a certian private investigator would be getting a call first thing in the morning.

If only to soothe the suspicions that had danced around in his thoughts since the moment he kissed Blair last week. He couldn't just let her walk away now.

He felt it in his bones, there was something more, something else to be seen, to be heard, to be known. Secrets never stayed secrets for long on the Upper East Side, even if they managed to move into a quaint little house in one of the boroughs.


	10. Stars falling from the sky

A/N: WOW GUYS, 10 chapters and over 100 reviews! Whoooot (so exciting ;D) Anyway, I _still_ don't own Gossip Girl and all that mumbo jumbo. I'm not going to babble on ... except that you are absolutely fantasticly fantastic and so is my wonderful beta **kate2008**. Reviews as always are much, much loved and very, very appreciated. HAPPY READING!

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_Cause all we know is falling, it falls.  
Remember, because I know that we won't forget at all  
-- Paramore_

**Chapter Ten:  
**

For seven days, nothing existed but the photographs littering Chuck's desk, spilling as they did over the mahogany table and onto the floor. The indecipherable moments and grainy blurs that remained silent, holding little.

It was on the eighth day of this conquest that Chuck came to his senses. Nothing had been captured on film that couldn't be seen in a better quality with his own two eyes. With this fresh in his mind, he lit another cigarette and called for the limo.

The method of action had been tedious so far, searching as much with his hands as his eyes for the rifts. Places where light penetrated the darkness and gave-way to banks of new knowledge. There had to be gaps, areas where the light filtered clear onto the brilliance of illusion. Blair Hutlen could pretend she was happy all she wanted, but Chuck Bass knew better.

He leaned back, taking a long thoughtful drag of his cigarette. Abigail had been out for hours, maxing her credit cards at Holt Renfrew most likely. Lately, she was left angry and resounding in shame since no amount (or rather lack thereof) lingerie and sickly perfume could draw her husband between the sheets.

This absence of affection was fine with him. After all, he slept better when not inclined to rise at ungodly hours of the day just to slip a birth control pill into one of her morning smoothies.

Plumes of grey smoke danced about the room, settling into the grooves of misjudgement and preposterous action that Chuck had come to define himself with. Desperation having fuelled the marriage to Abby, a ridiculous idea on its own. As if the plains of her ordinary face and square jaw could even hold false compare to the woman that stirred in him an undying fire.

All these years he had avoided laying the blame. Instead, it had been much easier to bury the past beneath thick barriers of memory. But, with the passing of time, Chuck had come to wonder … what reason had there really been?

He tormented himself, believing that he was the one who had walked away; on account of his insecurities and his obvious difficulties with commitment. But in retrospect, it seemed as though Blair might have done all the walking.

Maybe they had abandoned each other, one simply allowing the other to continue falling in another direction; partly out of fear that one day their love would break into pieces – and partly because they had been young and stupid.

One thing was for certain, the once greatly respected couple had learned how best to do one thing in the absence of each other.

Run.

The hour after all ties in their great romance had been severed; Chuck had sat in the very same office. He had mulled the day over with a fresh glass of scotch, vowing in the dark of the night that if he could not have Waldorf that he would at least do all that he could to prime Bass Industries into the jewel it had been.

His promise had been kept and the family business thrived under his rule, brandishing the Bass name with pride. One of the largest most revered companies in the world and it was all his own.

While he had slaved away, merely hoping to get through half the papers that regularly lined his briefcase, Blair had been busy with marriage and children, the little things that kept her walking away from him. They really had skirted off in different directions. The details of their affair fading and distorted during those years, like water passing though his hands.

She had always been there though – in the back of his mind – subject only to the murky changing of details. And, after some time, the last remaining pockets of their discarded love were all that was left behind.

In a compilation of the scattered pieces, Blair had built a sandcastle, constructing new parts where they were needed. The structure held up with the mere determination to forge something new out of their wreckage.

Chuck had envisioned this labour. He saw her elegant world in blocks of sand constructed too close to the ebbing tide. Soon, she would realize that there were cracks in the foundation, tiny but significant enough for the water to rush in and wash away all she had worked in making.

* * *

Blair kept her eyes peeled on Henry's reflection in the oval-shaped vanity mirror, counting out brush-strokes and starting to pin her hair into a bun.

He sat cross legged, his notebooks splayed in front of him, chewing on the end of a pencil. So far, he had been diligent in getting an extremely early start on his homework but she knew that soon, boredom would fill him and he'd grow frustrated.

As if on cue, her son let out a dramatic sigh, dropping his pencil onto the floor and padding over to the window seat in his socks. He hoped onto the cushions and pressed his cheek to the cool glass, eyes trained on the streets below.

For the past four days New York City had been under an almost constant downpour. The grey clouds overhead, thick and heavy with precipitation, traveled sluggishly across the gleaming skyline, showing no signs of dissipating.

The early morning class that Henry took every Saturday had been cancelled. Supposedly, as he later admonished, because of a fight that occurred between two intermediate students. It had resulted, as these things often did, in a broken nose and many tears.

Hours of quality time stretched in front of Blair and her son, empty and waiting to be built upon, eagerly thrumming with possibility. Nimbly, she finished putting her hair up and walked towards him, pressing the palm of her hand to his brown curls.

"Can we go outside?" He asked - the corners of his mouth down-turned commas. Images of Chuck danced across Blair's eyelids. It was the same expression he had used whenever he asked something of her and hadn't known the answer.

She shook her head, emptying his face from her thoughts.

Blair brushed her thumb gently across Henry's forehead, and with the grace of a gentleman, he sat perfectly still. She quirked an eyebrow, thinking over his request. Even though there was energy in him, just lying in wait to be burned, she wasn't particularly fond of letting him jump in dirty sidewalk puddles until dinnertime.

Henry leaned into her side, "We could always go to Central Park," he suggested. "We haven't gone there in days, mommy." He kicked his heels together, trying in vain to hide his excitement.

Blair chuckled, "Darling – do you really want to go in the rain?" She knew full well that boys loved any opportunity to get muddy and cold but asked none the less.

"We could feed the ducks," he said, as though he hadn't heard her. "Dorota said just the other day that there's an _almost_ stale loaf of bread in the pantry."

"Oh she did, did she?" How convenient, Blair suspected his deviance, flashing a smile.

Henry batted his lashes and lowered his eyes to the floor, "Yes, yesterday mom!"

She tilted her head, pretending to think it over as he looked eagerly up at her. Slowly, Blair nodded in approval before visions of mud-soaked sweaters and knotty hair could flash through her thoughts.

He lit up, that smile that she loved so much; jumping from the window-seat and running off into the hall before she could even blink, mumbling something, the product of over-excitement, akin to thank-you.

Blair walked briskly to the staircase, her heels clicking against the hardwood loudly. Henry had already begun his decent of the stairs, "Slowly," She called, "and put the blue jacket on. Not the one with dirt all over it."

* * *

Chuck Bass fancied himself a man of many talents, though he remained rather understating of them (in his head at least … sometimes.) However, when it came to strategy, the game of chess, the ever desirable need for trickery - it was second nature. The un-nerving perfectionisms of his deception ran though his blood, the ancestral passing's-down of men who had been equally as powerful and influential as he.

Finally he had stopped stewing about, mulling over what could have been vs. what was, the game of 'what if' turning into a boring comparison. So, instead of lounging about like a useless git, he had sprung into action. No longer was there time to lie in wait, there existed only action and answers to the questions that peppered his thoughts.

The limo glided into park not seconds before a town car pulled away from the curb outside of a certain Brooklyn residence. Chuck swirled the liquid around in his glass, gulping the scotch down in one sip, coughing as it burned a trail down his throat. He motioned for the driver to follow said car and delved back into his own world as they swerved through traffic, retracing the familiar route to Manhattan.

Chuck rested against the backseat, the concrete jungle blurring past his window.

What was it that had ignited this fire in him, the sense that something was off-balance? Truly if he were any kind of reasonable man would he not let the whole ordeal drop from his coat and fizzle into dust? Perhaps, he was less of a reasonable man when it came to Blair.

He wondered what it was that he hoped to find. A marriage in shambles? A petite brunette who still longed for his touch? It had occurred to him once or twice that he could be searching for closure. A simple way to connect the past to the present but he doubted it. At no point did he think of just going home or even to the office to catch up on some backlogged paperwork. To him, this commitment to an unknown presence of secrecy was answer enough to his question.

The limo jerked to a stop and he cast a glance outside, they were in front of the southeast entrance to Central Park.

From where he sat, obscured by several legions of traffic, he could see the back door of the town-car opening. Blair stepped out, her hair tied in a tousled bun at the nape of her neck, clad in a pair of skinny jeans and a peach cardigan, this sight alone caused Chuck's heart to skip a beat or two.

For a minute she did nothing, simply standing there as the rain fell about her in a light mist. And then it was as though she had snapped back into reality, her brown eyes scanning the street. She pulled out an umbrella, shaking it open. He noticed off-hand that the door had not been shut and she had yet to make such a move towards it.

Chuck narrowed his eyes. If Mark emerged, then he already knew that he would berate the nearest available person into tears, and this whole excursion would prove pointless. If there was one thing he definitely did not want to witness, it was Mr and Mrs. Hutlen's lovey-dovey walk through the park in the rain. Barf.

Blair bent down, the umbrella dropping to the crook of her neck and for a matter of minutes Chuck's view was blocked by its fluorescent red material. By the time she had a firm grip on the handle, she wasn't the only one under protection from the damp weather.

A child stood beside her, and in the second it took for him to spot something off in the distance, he started to pull Blair along. She threw her head back in laughter, pressing her lips to his curls.

Chuck's heart beat rang through his ears, his mouth agape. Those almond shaped eyes, the starched shirt and green-striped sweater, the way the boy moved … he held in a breath, memories flooding back, open and vulnerable and holding truth with no explanation.

This child that was clearly his.

As though he had known it all along everything fell into place, colliding in his perspectives, tearing open fresh definitions of everything.

"Timothy," Chuck drawled his voice low and hoarse. "Drive around the block until I get back."

Not another word was spoken, he climbed out of the limo and slammed the door shut. As Timothy pulled away from the curb Chuck made no sign of moving towards the sidewalk. He stood, still as a statue, a million emotions pulling him apart.

The smirk, the way it had flashed across the little boys pale complexion with such a handsome nonchalance ... his heart swelled with a truth, seemingly an honesty almost too big to absorb.

They say pictures speak a thousand words ... but what about a Bass man's smile?

_"Twins, they're eight..."_

A thousand meanings and it had boiled down to two very purposefully hidden secrets. Suddenly, his past with Blair took on a whole new meaning as did her marriage. But right now, all he could think of was his son, the little silhouette that was fading in the distance, getting further and further away from him after years of being apart.

* * *

Blair shifted her weight, trying in vain to keep her Manolos from sinking into the damp grass. The sun flitted about the edges of the rain clouds, murky light pooling together in small patches.

Henry had been throwing bits of loaf into the pond, curious ducks swimming close and snatching pieces.

After some time, a tiny white duckling emerged and waddled towards them, interested in the scented air. "Henry," Blair encouraged, "Open your hand – let him take it from you."

He looked towards her and back at the duck and bent down with an outstretched palm. The duckling plocked twice and gently grabbed the bread. Henry laughed and grinned wildly, "Did you see, did you see mom?!"

She grinned in response, "Yes baby." They were interrupted by the dramatic ring of her cell phone which she dug out of her purse with abandon.

A cold front swept through, chilly and forcible, as though it was in Blair's bones rather than the atmosphere. She held her breath, heart hammering as she turned, lips pressed into a thin hard line.

And then she completely forgot how to breathe.

Chuck was leaning against a tree. His posture poised and yet indifferent. She met his eyes – the jagged steel of truth and her heart pounded harder against her ribcage. He knew.

The cell phone slid from her sweaty palms and she made no move to pick it up, to do anything. In the back of her mind she sensed danger, but couldn't register what was happening. There was so much to pick up, to fill in, and to hide at such a staggering pace that it left her speechless.

Blair snapped back into reality at the sound of Henry's voice, like a rubber band stretched and catapulted into the air. She rushed towards him, covering his frame with her body, attempting to hide in a group of tourists that were lazily circling the park, snapping pictures.

In one quick movement she scooped him into her arms. "Ry," she whispered in his ear, "We have to go pick up your sister now. We've got to hurry okay? I wasn't paying attention to the time." Her words were fragmented, rushed and worried all at once.

Henry said nothing; he simply clung to her like a monkey, wrapping his arms around her shoulders in complete trust. She strode onto the pathway, the road of cement that would guide them to the street.

Chuck's eyes were there, following her every move. Blair didn't have to look back to know it, to feel it on her flesh.

Her mind raced, thinking of solutions. She could withdraw the twins from school and move to Washington or California – somewhere far away. Safety tucked into a life far from New York, from Chuck, and the honesty that threatened to divulge her secrets and destroy her marriage.

The piece of herself that belonged to him had been disconnected for so long. Even when she was forced to sit with him, to dine as though she hardly knew him, it sparked but hadn't flared. Now, it spoke loud and clear. The way she walked, desperately...

"Blair -" She froze, her hand covering Henry's cheek. His voice was quiet but firm, torn from the depths of her most intimate moments. Slowly she turned, unwilling to meet the gaze of a man who asked so much of her with his presence.

Was this the moment, the very second that it would all fall apart? She thought she might vomit. For the past eight years this was the last thing she wanted. Sure, it had been thought about it once or twice, but never really considered. The thought was always so distant, so far from who she was, it was never enough to make her want it.

Henry and Tula were hers, and everything had been done to ensure Chuck Bass never knew. Until now.

"Charles," She made no attempt at feigning surprise. "How nice to see you. Here - in Central Park - where you always are." Blair narrowed her eyes.

Henry jumped from her arms, leaving her empty and powerless towards the pressing exchange of words. Her brows furrowed momentarily and she dropped her hands onto his blue jacket. He was curious of Chuck but waited to be introduced. Henry's mouth quirked up in a half-grin as the wind blew past them, rustling the trees.

She wanted to rewind this moment, retrace her steps, to be anywhere with Henry but right here and right now in front of the solid wall of her past.

"Henry" She smiled, if only for his benefit, tendrils of her hair dipping past her collarbone. "This is … Chuck Bass." His name fell off her lips in two pieces, broken and sharp.

"Hello," Chuck offered his hand and she stifled a wince when Henry took it. Could her son see that he shared the same deep-set eyes as this man? The identical lips curved into a grin? The high cheek bones and deep brown hair...

"Hi," Henry addressed. "It's very nice to meet you."

Blair had trained the children at an early age to be polite but now it just seemed the barrier. The hurdle between the past and the present keeping her from escaping the conversation with a son any less than oblivious to the hidden meaning behind each word.

The stars in her universe were already dropping one by one, crashing into the pavement with little thuds.

"I must say," Chuck drawled. "It's a bit of an odd day for a walk in the park."

Henry opened his mouth but Blair interjected hastily. "We were just going actually, weren't we darling?" She grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

He nodded, "Yeah kind of."

Henry was teetering on the edges of confusion. Wondering why his mother was so tense and eager to get away. She prodded him in the back, guiding him away from Chuck, who looked at the two of them yet remained completely still.

"Bye Mr. Bass" Henry called over his shoulder. Blair held her chin up, if only to keep the facade glued together she said," Yes Charles. It was nice seeing you."

The air around them was heavy and she avoided his eyes. The Bass she knew had never been one to miss a beat and he didn't. With the smooth confidence only a man of his calibre could possess, Chuck stepped forward. "Nonsense. I should be so privileged as to escort you to your car."

By the time the three of them made it to the passengers side, Blair's head was spinning and she felt sick, disgusted with the confrontation that was to come. She shivered at the thought.

Blair rounded the car and waited as Henry climbed into the backseat. "Ry, I just have to talk to Mr. Bass for a moment." He nodded and turned on his PSP, completely absorbed by the screen.

With that she sighed and moved towards the sidewalk. Chuck grabbed her arm and all but dragged her off to the nearest bench.

"Let me go," She growled. Her skin burnt at his touch, "You're hurting me."

He looked over her once, his lip curled. He dropped his grasp and sat down motioning for her to follow. Did she have any choice in the matter? Blair edged as far away from him as she could get, still close enough to taste his cologne on her tongue.

It was the scent of history and stale emotion, too familiar.

"They're my kids ..." He said, it was so soft and pliable. "Blair?" He turned to look at her but he couldn't keep his eyes on her face. Suddenly she felt ashamed.

"Chuck - you're delusional." She wasn't going to forfeit years of work for a few moments of truth, no matter. There was too much at stake.

He snarled, "Don't play innocent, don't even fucking bother." His tone rose and he looked away, she could see the vapour rolling off his lips. She propped her jacket lapels up around her bare neck.

Long ago she had accepted that she would always love him but it was all too real to think of, to even wrap her head around. Two people that had once laughed and smiled, it only seemed natural that out of their mess would come two of the most beautiful babies that Blair couldn't live without.

She couldn't hate him, even if she wanted to, even if their conversation held so many disasters waiting to break loose.

It was the trade off for years of his uncertainty, a love that was present but somehow lost all at once. In Henry and Tula she saw nothing but the best parts of Chuck and Blair, it was enough for her.

"You lied to me." A red tinge appeared on his cheeks, the way his forehead creased. He wouldn't understand.

Her sympathy blew away, carried elsewhere on the April winds.

"As I recall, YOU were the one who left, not me."

"Debatable," He bit out, his movements forced.

Blair opened her mouth but nothing came out, what was there to say? She struggled to keep calm, to deconstruct the anger in Chuck's voice and keep her words civil. Something she could see he was having difficulty doing.

"You can't deny me this Blair and you won't." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

His leather glove trailed the corner of her chin, "Little Waldorf - always such a great liar. It's really unfortunate on your part that I'm not a simpleton."

She squirmed and brushed his hand away. "Shut up, you don't even know what you're saying."

Chuck leaned in, his breath hot on the shell of her ear. "Go ahead and run but I will find you and then we'll be settling this in court."

And then he was up and walking off, his black trench coat drab against the crowd. Blair released a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. "Choose wisely," he called.

Blair watched him walk away until he was just a speck in the distance. She stood up, grabbing at composure as tears fell down her cheeks. New York was the kind of city where she would need to chip them off. As quickly as she had let herself feel angry and upset she brushed the salt water away and pulled a smile across her lips.

They had changed into different people, the battle grounds shifting and transformed but underneath it all she was still Blair Waldorf and he - Chuck Bass. It happened, of course, that time diluted and bulked up those once near-hollow names into something more. But in place of it all they were united now to fight for the same thing.

Their children.


	11. Armour love

A/N: The amount of reviews you guys left me for the last chapter was absolutley insane and every bit appreciated! I can't tell you how great it is to come home and see your email inbox flooded with [ff review] as well as all those subscriptions! Both are amazing and everyone who took the time to tell me what they thought is fabulous! We writers do enjoy knowing what readers think of course and I just don't know what to say other than that (: This went through a few drafts and I'd like to thank wonderful kate2008 for betaing of course. It's absolutley crazy right now because of the olympics being in town so it took a while to get this out but anyway, I hope you like it and happy reading!_

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__I hit you back _  
_you gave a kick_  
_I gave a slap_  
_you smashed a plate over my head_  
_then i set fire to our bed_  
_A kiss with a fist is better than none  
__-- Florence + the machine_

**Chapter Eleven:**

If there was ever a time to stand up straight and bare her teeth with little regard and every intention, it was now. But, all she could focus her thoughts on was the exhaustion that clung to her shoulders.

Blair dropped on the edge of the bed, arms falling at her sides, a dark curtain of brunette curls obscuring her pale face. Every muscle in her body ached as she pressed her wrists to her forehead, focused on her breathing, deep and slow.

It took time for the anxiety to dwindle down into a dull throb. When she felt calm enough she stood up and stumbled into the bathroom. Mark was late. He hardly worked past six-thirty and all her energy was seemingly invested in not thinking of the reasons why he might still be absent at a quarter to eight.

She started the shower, opening her eyes to the drifting mist. Chuck's image pasted itself to the blacks of her eyelids every time she closed her eyes. The scarf wrapped around his neck, the color of his jacket, every movement and word destroyed, boiled down into its simplest form, and still so complex. His gaze had brushed over everything she worked so hard to keep away from him, now melted and exposed.

Blair peeled off her clothes, stepping under the shower. She worked shampoo into her hair, careful calculated movements as the water drifted down her back. It felt like hours but really it must have only been seconds before she was drawn back into the present.

"Honey?" Mark's voice was weary, echoing off the bathroom tiles.

"In here…" Blair turned off the faucet quickly when he appeared in the doorway. His freshly pressed suit had since crumpled, blonde hair in dismay and grey circles, a prominent feature on his pale face, beneath the blues of his eyes. The sight sprouted a seed of worry in her stomach but she grinned and moved towards him, rolling onto the tips of her feet to peck him on the lips. She pulled back, turning towards the towel rack.

Mark held a hand above his head, as though he had forgotten what he was about to do, fluffing up his hair. Suddenly she tensed, aware of the apprehension that hung heavily in the air around them. "Remember that conference I told you about?" He said.

She threw a glance over her shoulder, a towel in her hands, encircling it around her body. She waltzed into his arms, trying to comb out the details of the last few weeks. It was apparent that the banks of her memory were hollow of everything past this afternoon. She nodded anyway.

"Well," He sighed." Isaac was supposed to go but he cancelled last minute ... so now I have to do it."

A shiver ran down her spine but she shook it off. "Where?"

"Miami" he groaned unhappily, "For five days."

The first thing she thought of was the Basshole. Instinctively, a hand flew to her lips and her stomach lurched, threatening to push up dinner. It had only been a couple hours since their encounter in the park but Chuck was already wedging himself in the spaces, creating voids he could slip into.

"Can't you get out of it?" Blair draped her hands over his shoulders, staring up at his chin. Mark shook his head, "I wish. I already travel the least, you know that."

Her cheeks grew red. Could he not see this as the falling action? If he left everything would be wrenched from the center point of their lives! Chuck would certainly see to that. She backed into the opposite side of the door fame, staring down at her feet. "You're practically the founder and now Pete is just going to make you go because what, he's too busy? Last I checked he didn't have a life."

It had been almost a decade since Blair had woken up one day and realized she wasn't following the plan anymore. She had embarked on a new journey, the path unfamliar as she forged new meaning but it had directed her somewhere beautiful somewhere worth going. And now, Chuck threatened to take that away from her, slip the wedding ring from her finger and attatch so many re-writes to the script that it set her head spinning just to think of the prospect.

What would she do then?

The distance between her and Mark was cold and loud, stretching thin. "Blair," it was soft, falling to the ground in billowing movements. "It's just five days, not even a week. You won't even know I'm gone, neither will the kids - I promise."

Chuck could tie Mark up from here until the end of time if he wanted to, and no doubt he would drag his influence as far as he could to emphasize the standings, to announce without words that he wasn't going to forget or give up. The battle cry had been sounded.

Mark pulled her into his chest, the folds of his shirt. She gulped up his scent in greedy breaths; the familiar pattern of his muscles underneath his flesh, the shape of her husband, her best friend.

Blair held the lapels of his jacket in her fists. "I just hate when you have to go."

He pressed his lips to hers in response, pushing eagerly at her body. They separated with a collective sigh, pushing towards the next task. Two people together and yet apart, stepping in such different directions. It was a solid truth; something Blair knew ... her heart pounding when she realized that it held more meaning than Mark could ever know.

He disappeared into the darkness of the closet and she fell towards the duvet, tucking her knees underneath her chin and hugging her thighs to her chest. He brought out the smallest suitcase and hauled its empty shell onto the bed, starting to fill its base.

"When's your flight?" Blair talked into her knees, observing the way he worked.

Mark was busy arranging folded shirts into one corner, a wisp of blonde hair falling across his forehead. "I'm catching the red eye," He looked up, appraising her curves in their half-naked state.

She bit her tongue, overcome with the desire to explain everything, to map out the web of deceit she had woven. "Well then, I'd better help you." With that she got up and began to search through drawers for the best dress-shirts and ties, distracting herself.

It wasn't much later that he said his temporary goodbye's to the twins. They were sweet words whispered in the dark of night, promises of souvenirs and photographs dropping onto Tula and Henry's laps.

Blair was pulling a shirt over her head when she felt his stare burning circles into her flesh. Smirking, she sauntered over to him in one of his ragged college shirts, swaying her milky hips.

When the taxi they had called left the curb Blair retreated into the house, wrapping the housecoat further around her body. A mug of green tea was cupped between her hands as she climbed the stairs, passing her babies bedrooms, their doors partially opened.

For the first time she wondered if her and Mark were meant to be together or simply criss-crossing each other on the way to something else.

* * *

Chuck pushed the food around on his plate, he hadn't eaten anything and wasn't about to. He cast a glance at the glass of scotch sitting on his right, the dining room flooded in a buttery glow.

"So," Abby giggled, "How was work?" He furrowed his brows. He couldn't do this, sit here and talk about work when, for the first time in eight years, he didn't want to. He couldn't be with this woman, could he?

"Fine," He mumbled, his throat was dry and scratchy from lack of alcohol.

"Nothing new and exciting Chuckie?" He grimaced at the name, Chuckie. What was he, some kind of pet? Hardly.

There was nothing to be said. Chuck leaned back into his chair waiting for the moment Abigail would leave him alone; free to burrow comfortably in his office, uninterrupted. Instead, she sipped at her flute of champagne, fussing over it momentarily before pushing back her chair.

He sucked in a breath, hopeful that she wasn't going to carry on this charade. Having to sit there and pretend to enjoy the dinner Abby pretended she'd made was a slow torture. However it was the one thing they'd managed to keep between them that had somehow escaped disposal.

Maybe it was because neither of them dealt much in the nature of reality, preferring instead to feign interest where none lay.

She rounded the table, draping her body over his lap. In one fluid motion she looped an arm around his neck, extending her legs to the side. Her eyes glistened in the near darkness, containing as much intention as was possible to hold.

He cleared his throat, averting his eyes from the curve of her neck. Abby - aware of her movements - turned slowly as though she were unkinking every muscle in her upper body. He was a man yes, but all he could see in her eyes were reflections of the afternoon.

A forgotten past bubbled onto the surface.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

She pouted. "Whatever do you mean?"

Chuck gestured between the two of them. "This isn't of convenience to me anymore." His words were hard, serious. He didn't even know what he was saying but he went with it anyway. "For the past couple of years it was working and now I find it to be ..." He stopped, waiting for the right words to fall onto his lips. "Well, it's simply run its course I guess."

He pressed his mouth to her cheek, inhaling the cheap perfume. The poor girl had never learned the true meaning of proportion, and then he pushed her off of him grabbing the glass of scotch. He started towards his office, lifting the tumbler of alcohol between his fingers when he passed by the bar. There was no need to look back. This was a past he could leave behind; forget without any amount of question, but Blair wasn't.

* * *

When Blair was younger she had always said: whenever found in doubt place faith in Audrey Hepburn. It was advice she hadn't thought to use until now. It wasn't so much that she was in doubt and more so that she felt utterly lost, needing to be guided away this maze of secrecy and midnight flights.

Grains of Technicolor broke the darkness, netting her in a sense of continuance, familiarity washing over her thoughts.

While the opening credits rolled, her gaze danced around the room. The space seemed to want more than just her presence and with Mark probably already somewhere over Florida she wondered whether or not he was thinking of her too.

She laughed, feeling silly at catching herself in such a juvenile desire. She knew the glittering lights of the city didn't appear any different from an airplane. It was funny in a way, the effort maintained to stay in the heart of New York with its people, sights and sounds. Home.

But didn't every place in the world hold an aspect of another place, a different time? It was all the same beauty, a concrete jungle of sorts.

She was tired, weak even, from the day's events but her bones still ached to move. She could get up, pack her things, throw her children's belongings into a suitcase and join Mark in Florida, they could make the next step together; she didn't have to face Chuck.

This thought comforted her. All the glitter had rubbed off her skin, the passing of time having left her bare and fresh under the impressions she'd once tried to embody. The days of naivety had been lost, replaced by strands of pears and solid words that didn't fade in the wash.

There was a world between them now and she was someone else. Although he had changed very little, the same sharp brown eyes and shark-like mannerisms.

"Mommy?" The twins stood in the doorway, faces full of sleep. Mark's goodbye kisses were still locked in place on their cheeks as she beckoned them in the door, patting the empty sheets beside her.

They climbed under the covers, snuggling into her sides. Blair dropped kisses on the tops of their heads, the only two things worth fighting for. Henry and Tula - the precious little jewels she'd carved out of a mountainside promising nothing more than its scenery.

Henry yawned into her thigh, his breath warm on her skin. She combed her fingers through Tula's hair. There were whispers and misunderstandings on every surface. "When will daddy be back?" Henry asked.

"In a few days baby."

Tula propped her chin on her hands. She was slightly less enticed by sleep, "Where did he go?"

"Florida," Blair answered. "Now -" She moved to pull the covers over the three of them, "Go to sleep my darlings. I love you."

Henry buried further into the mattress needing no prompting. His snores hardly fractured Holly Golightly's dialogue.

_"We belong to nobody and nobody belongs to us ..."_

As Tula rolled over and the three of them drifted off to sleep Blair knew this wasn't entirely truth. In some little way she would always belong to the girl she once was; the world she had once lived in. The difference lay in the fact that she was no longer that woman and yet she had needed to be her at one point in order to become who she now was. One day her children would realize that they would always belong in some small way to their upbringing and to her.

All this time Holly Golightly had misinterpreted the words. She had spent so much time running from her past that she never took the time to respect it.

With this fresh in her thoughts Blair sat up, pulling the covers from her small frame and scurrying into the hallway. She glanced back into the bedroom, releasing a sigh of relief when the only audible sound above Henry's snores was the movie that had restarted itself. The questions they would ask were left underneath their pillows for another night, questions that she would need to find words enough to answer.

She tip-toed down the stairs and into the kitchen, glancing up at the clock as she tapped her fingers on the phone. She took a deep breath focusing on her purpose as she dialed the number, the one that she hadn't allowed herself to remember until now.

The game was being approached in a new way with a better strategy. The cards needed to be played right this time - too much was at stake.

"Chuck?"

* * *

The cell phone rang, breaking the film of silence that drifted throughout the penthouse. Chuck was jolted awake. He cursed, wondering who would call at ... one-thirty in the morning?!

"Chuck Bass," He mumbled, directing his eyes towards the ceiling. He couldn't even remember passing out.

"Chuck?" Blair whispered harshly. He froze, his breathing fractured. It was mere surprise that knocked him to his knees. He had known she wouldn't leave the country now, too invested in the name she had built for herself to leave it all behind, even if she had once upon a time.

"Blair," He was awake now, getting to his feet. "My my, what a surprise."

There was a distant sigh, "Don't."

"What?" He stood in front of the bay window, the city below still stirring in the early hours of the morning.

"Look, we both know why I'm calling."

"Refresh my memory?" He wasn't going to make this any easier. She had kept his children from him; decided on her own that he didn't have the right to know them, he was too angry to let it dissolve at her feet with the simplest of phone calls.

Blair ignored him. "I'm a fairly busy woman Bass." Her voice was flat containing only straight forward concepts holding no deception. "If you want to talk then we can talk. I won't however, let you jeopardize my children's well-being because you're angry at me. This isn't a game ... we're not kids anymore."

"Isn't it about eight and a half years too late for this?" His words were sharp, edged in frustration.

"Do you think I really want to be talking to you right now? Because you're not making it any easier to be civil."

"And that's what we're trying to be," Chuck's words were tumbling over each other. "Is that what we need to be Blair, civil?" They had never been polite with each other in the entirety of their relationship. Chuck and Blair the friends and Chuck and Blair the couple - had both been based on one extreme or the other, there had been no grey areas of unknown.

"I won't let you take them away from me and I won't let you take Mark away from me." Chuck turned his attention to the door, walking towards it. His stomach growled, pronouncing its hunger, his head aching from the alcohol he had consumed earlier.

"I'm not taking anything away from you," He stated. "I'm just getting back what you never let me have." It was the plainest truth he could think to say.

"Let me make one thing clear, this is between you and me so leave Mark out of it."

"Just like you left me out of my children's lives for the past eight years? Let's not fuck around here. The only reason your talking to me now is because I caught you." He snarled; his breathing was heavy as he searched through the fridge, trying to give himself something else to focus on.

"Get over yourself!"

"Gladly," he retorted, setting leftovers onto the counter.

"You didn't even know what you wanted then."

"No -" He interrupted, "_You _didn't know what I wanted. _You _made the decision for me."

"I knew that you didn't want a baby."

"I wanted you Blair; I wanted every little bit of you, the whole thing. I loved you."

"Sometimes love isn't enough" she countered, her voice weak.

"I guess it isn't," he acknowledged, "But it could have been." If she wanted to talk he would talk, it wasn't like he didn't have anything to say.

"I'm not going to let you do this …"

"All I want is to know them - to have a chance. Don't think I won't do what I need to in order to have that happen."

"You wouldn't …" She stated, "You couldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" He was the father of her children, one half of the equation. There was no room for debate. The twins were his only offspring and he wasn't about to abandon them, the idea of them, the reality of their existence, like his father had done with him in so many ways.

"You don't know me Chuck, you don't know them. No matter what happened you have no right to break apart my family, _their _family."

"Truth is Blair; you already did that for all of us, didn't you?"

"Grow up Basshole," and then the line went dead. Maybe neither of them had changed as much as they believed they had, he thought.

Chuck put the cell phone back into his pocket, peeling off his vest as he walked towards the bedroom. Eight years earlier he hadn't known there was a battle to be fought and now that he knew he wouldn't simply walk away because Blair Waldorf had asked him to.

He was Chuck Bass after all and that still meant something … didn't it?


	12. Cheers darling

A/N: Happy reading! Props to kate2008 (: Review if you have some time! Their majorly appreciated and loved as always.

* * *

_**Girl**: Have I seen you before? _  
_**Tom**: Me? I don't think so. _  
_**Girl**: Do you ever go to Angela's Plaza? _  
_**Tom**: Yes... That's like my favorite spot in the city. _  
_**Girl**: Yeah, except for the parking lots. _  
_**Tom**: Yeah, yeah I agree. _  
_**Girl**: Yeah, yeah I think I've seen you there. _  
_**Tom**: Really? _  
_**Girl**: Yeah... _  
_**Tom**: I haven't seen you? _  
_**Girl**: You must not have been looking... _  
_**Tom**: ...  
__-- (500) days of summer_

**Chapter Twelve:**

_December 16th, 2011._

_Having threaded out of shops for the past four hours Blair stopped on the street, inhaling the fresh air in gulps. The stream of people on the street narrowly avoiding her, the tiny brunette dizzy with the smell of new clothing._

_One impossibly packed subway, three blocks and half a bottle of hand sanitizer later, she found herself in Brooklyn, eyes cast on the outline of Tessa's apartment building. _

_Blair kicked her Louboutin's together - arguing with herself over the likelihood of her best friend actually being home on a Friday night. Chances were decidedly slim._

_The hall was cold as she climbed the stairs, coming to stand in front of the suite. She raised her hand to knock just as the door swung open and Mark appeared._

_There was a pause, a single breath of surprise._

_"Hey," He grinned, "Blair right?" There was a wool scarf draped around his neck, a black jacket zipped up his chest. _

_She rolled her eyes. "Is Tess around?"_

_He rested his forearm on the doorframe. "No actually, she went to pick up dinner."_

_"Oh." Well, there went any shadow of a plan she might have built up._

_"But," He continued, "You could wait – eat with us if you want."_

_"You're not going out?" She hesitated, fully drinking in his apparel. Clearly - he was going somewhere - soon._

_"I was actually just going to get a paper..." He shrugged, "From downstairs."_

_"Oh okay..." She cast a glance down the empty corridor, weighing her options. If she didn't wait, the apartment with its cardboard boxes was just across town. Somehow, this sounded better._

_"Don't go anywhere - "He held his hands up, words rushed, "Actually, go inside." He opened the door, and led her into the hallway. "I'll be back in like two seconds."_

_Blair was left alone, standing awkwardly against the wall, she peeled off her coat and trailed into the kitchen, sidestepping the stacks of papers that littered every available surface._

_She closed her eyes, absorbing the familiarity, breathing in the lavender incense that burned in an abandoned jam jar, trying in vain to clear her head._

_Blair loved being there. The books and colourful paintings, thrift store furniture covered in thick handmade blankets. She felt at peace, snuggled into a corner of Brooklyn without a care. The one place no one would ever think to look for her._

_She blinked when the door slammed, shifting her weight as Mark trudged into the kitchen. The Times was tucked in his jacket pocket. "Man, its cold out there." He rubbed his hands together and moved towards the fridge. "Thirsty?" He held up a beer and she nodded._

_Normally, Blair didn't drink more than a glass of red wine with dinner and an occasional vodka shot but it was Friday night after all and maybe the alcohol, however gross it tasted, would warm her bones a little._

_She realized, as Mark opened the bottle and handed it to her, that she hardly knew him beyond the obligatory information released at random by his sister._

_Of course, there had been instances in which he'd slinked past them, trailing kisses down a lover's cheek, bidding her adieu at the door. As often as Blair was around she had never seen him with the same girl more than once. Ever._

_She knew enough about him to know what kind of man he was._

_He pushed a stack of notebooks off the nearest chair and sat down, unzipping his leather jacket and throwing it towards the couch. It landed in a heap. Their eyes met across the table, neither daring to speak first, pierce the heavy air with rounded words._

_Blair couldn't remember crossing paths with him often. _

_Mark never seemed to get his coffee in any of the popular cafes or even nearby street vendors. As far as she knew he didn't run around campus on a regular basis either. Or perhaps this lack of acquaintance was because he was a third year marine biology major with a certain affinity for blonde freshman. Or so Tessa had said once or twice. And, last she checked, her hair was brown, hereby declaring her a brunette._

_She ran a finger around the lip of her bottle watching him as he stared out the tiny window, edged in frost. Abruptly he stood, turning towards the dishes. The faucet was turned on and the sound of water draining into the sink was excuse enough to not talk._

_She sipped at her beer, thinking about the holidays; Christmas ... the beauty of the city bathed in lights. _

_Her thoughts drifted towards Mark, drawn into the pieces. She'd never given any attention to him. Then again, she'd never really been alone with him either, in any real sense of the word. Mostly Blair had stood around while Tess had talked to him, in crowded bars and noisy parties, the quiet surfaces of the apartment in the early morning._

_She had pretended to be asleep on those days._

_"Care to help?" Smooth words floated off his tongue and danced towards the ceiling._

_She looked up, towards the dirty dishes in the sink and at him, taking a rather large sip of her beer. The fermented taste slinked down her throat._

_"Seriously?" She flipped her hair, wondering whether or not he truly was being genuine._

_"Yeah. What good is sitting there going to do?" The man did have a point, she mused._

_He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to speak._

_"Fine," She sighed. Anything to pass the time faster would obviously be better, it would ultimately equate into the lesser amount of minutes she'd have to spend completely alone with Mark._

_"Wash or dry?" He asked, slinging a dishtowel over his shoulder._

_"Wash," She replied with more confidence than she felt. _

_For one whole week when she was eight Dorota had let her dry the dishes whenever Dorota set about to wash them. Then one day Blair had accidentally dropped a teacup, shattering it into pieces. She had been so fearful of her mother's disappointment that she too had burst into tears. _

_Needless to say, Eleanor was less then impressed. That night as she tucked her daughter into bed she had said: "My darling WE have no time to do anything but conquer the world."_

_She'd never really thought about it after that. The menial tasks of ordinary people._

_Blair slid the yellow plastic gloves onto her delicate hands very slowly, glaring at the dishes which looked to contain remnants of last night's take-out. She grimaced._

_Mark was close enough now that she couldn't help but breathe him in, the scent of fresh pine and soap, it was intoxicating and her head was swimming._

_The closest she'd been to a man in the last month had been the whispered messages left on the answering machine by Chuck. _

_"I've changed my mind," She said suddenly, "I want to dry." She moved to grab the dishtowel off his shoulder but he ducked away, grinning._

_"Nope," He said it so simply, with fearlessness._

_"What?" She wasn't used to the coldness of the word._

_"You called it, so now you're stuck with it." He bumped her in the shoulder playfully._

_"I hate you," She grumbled, not even knowing where to start. Gripping the sponge with two fingers she ran it under the water, sighing dramatically._

_"Don't hate me," he countered, "Hate the rules."_

_"There aren't any rules," She stated, gently scrubbing at the caked on mess, "You're just doing this to torture me."_

_He turned to her, his eyes burning her flesh. It was an intense gaze, inquisitive, it warmed her blood better than the lukewarm alcohol._

_"Hey, Tess and I grew up with the rules, the rules exist. However," He noted with interest, "I can guess you're not familiar with them. Have you ever even washed a dish in your life?"_

_She opened her mouth to lie but it would fall uselessly to the floor. It was obvious by the way she held the plate in her hands, her nose bunched up at the bridge, that she wasn't accustomed to manual labour of any kind._

_"Not particularly."_

_Blair could feel the warmth of his flesh as he took the plate from her hands. "Like this," He instructed, scrubbing diligently at its surface._

_He put the plate in the dish rack and passed the sponge back to her. And, by the time she was halfway through, it didn't matter that she was doing the dishes. Neither did the fact that she was with a man who wasn't Chuck and sort of enjoying herself while scrubbing someone else's food off their plate. _

_It was relaxing and strangely satisfying. Maybe that's why Dorota had cursed in Polish when Eleanor had installed their first dishwasher and insisted she used it. _

_Soon the pair fell into sync, working side by side. She passed each dish to him, where they were dried and put away._

_After a while she pushed her hair behind her ears, working on a particularly sticky food stain."You know, I'm not usually like that. What you saw I mean … the other day, in case you think that's … well me."_

_"I don't think your anything," His tone was soft, sincere._

_Blair wanted to fill the hollow seconds with something. "My boyfriend left town on business, and I uh, when he leaves it's like he takes my heart with him."_

_"That must be hard," he joked she surmised, trying to make her feel better._

_"I manage," She replied._

_"I wish I had something like that," Mark lamented, reaching to place a fork with the other silverware._

_She grinned, trying to compress the laughter in her throat._

_"What's so funny?" He asked, amused._

_"Nothing," She shook her head, "I'm just surprised."_

_"At what?" He looked utterly confused as she burst into peals of laughter. Blair took a deep breath, "But you've slept with pretty much every girl at NYU."_

_"Says who?" He was smiling now, his tone light. She truly had no idea why she was laughing so hard._

_Maybe the menial tasks of ordinary people weren't so horrible after all. _

_"Can I just - can I ask you something?" She tried to pull at composure, gripping the counter. There was a pause, "Why exclude the teachers?" And then they were both grasping for breath, clutching their sides, hands on their knees as they slid onto the floor together. _

_When their breathing finally slowed and the laughter died down Mark leaned his head against the cupboard."You know, you're better than I thought you'd be."_

_Blair bit her lip, "I guess I could say the same about you."_

_Their attention was caught elsewhere on the shriek of the front door as the lock was drawn back. "Mark?" Tessa called, "I need a lil help here."_

_He stood up, turning off the faucet and offering his hand to Blair, pulling her onto her feet. A faint smile stretched between them as he disappeared from view._

_Blair spun in circles towards the table. The air was electric. _

_"B?" She turned, greeted by Tessa's broad smile and glossy lips, flecks of snow stuck to the lapels of her jacket. "Hey!"_

* * *

"This isn't a good idea S, I can't just _see_ him." Blair knitted her eyebrows together, throwing her hands in the air. The suggestion itself was beyond preposterous.

Serena was lounging on the bed, a stern gaze locked on her friend. "Well," She propped herself up on her elbows, "Chuck hasn't changed much. We both know that if you don't go looking for him, he'll become even more difficult when he has to find you. And -"

"He will." Blair sighed, finishing the thought. It was true. "S," She leaned forward, fixing her lips into a pout, "Come with me. I can't do this alone."

Serena collapsed, staring up at the ceiling. "Blair, I love you but this is something you have to do by yourself."

She blinked. Everything she'd done had been alone. Her relationship with Chuck, the pregnancy, the list went on. Well, that was a little melodramatic of her, she had Tess and Serena, Nate sometimes, but without Chuck in the picture it had really felt like one-sided.

Mark was the one who had come along and fixed that, taken the loneliness away, replaced it with something solid, happiness. "What if I don't want to?" She put her head in her hands, "Because I don't. He's still the same Basshole he was then, mother chucker, insensitive asshole. Take your pick ..." She trailed off, rubbing at her eyes.

"I still have to deal with him bi-weekly you know." Serena groaned, "But it takes two to tango."

"And only one to forget the dance and fuck everything up." Blair added pointedly.

Serena rolled her eyes. "You couldn't have expected this to last could you? I mean I'm surprised that you managed to keep it quiet this long." She sounded genuinely awe-struck. In all honesty Blair didn't know how she had either. The facade was so elusive, a running dream, she had only done what she could to protect Henry and Tula, grabbed onto the pieces, started from there.

"I don't know. I don't know what to do S." She stretched her legs, facing her reflection in the vanity mirror, "I'm not the same anymore. I don't know if I can even play the game right this time around."

There was a long pause. "Blair, it's in you. Just ..." Serena stumbled over her words, "just fight for what matters to you. Your instincts will kick in when you need them."

"And if they're all wrong?" She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her stomach stirred. She hadn't allowed herself to think of it, the confrontation, truth in its existence. There would be so much to say when the time came and yet nothing at all, her actions would speak louder than words. She shivered, cold with the thought of her husband leaving her, explaining it to her children. "I shouldn't have come back."

Serena flattened her back against the headboard, pulling her hair onto her shoulders. "Have a little faith." She smiled, lopsided and comforting, gesturing at the space next to her. Blair stood up, walking over to the bed, climbing onto the covers; she buried her head into Serena's maroon blouse.

"Now," She continued, combing her fingers through Blair's chestnut locks. "When are you seeing him?"

"7pm."

"Dinner?"

Blair nodded.

"Somewhere badly lit?"

"Paulo's bistro on 73rd." She answered. They had good food, great music and avoided the use of electrical lighting in the dinning room; it was brightened sparsely by large wax candles that burned into the early morning hours. A hidden treasure.

"See," Serena laughed, "There's the Blair I know."

After all, the number one rule had always been to dine in dark restaurants where the sparks could flicker in corners of the room better than any light bulb. Or the emotions, creased words and wandering meanings could be well concealed in the shadows. As they often had in the past, the latter was the frequent outcome of such nights and Blair had a feeling this one wouldn't be any different, whether or not several years had passed.

"We'd best get you ready then," Serena added.

Blair sighed. She had agreed to this solely on the basis of discussing their situation. The past she could no longer hide from his preying eyes. Now, she wasn't sure what exactly she had agreed to, or even if it was worth it. Chuck had never been one to keep quiet, then again she hadn't either.

But, she reminded herself as Serena pulled her onto her feet, that she wasn't the same girl either . . .

. . . not quite anyway.


	13. Galaxy of the lost

A:N: Woah. Been a month since I updated, it felt like longer because of this writersblock i finally got rid of. Geez, when I'm supposed to be doing geography homework and this comes to me instead. Anyway, your reviews are always loved, so review! review! if you have some time! (:

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen:**

Chuck Bass stood on the street, cigarette in hand, trying to smoke away his intentions.

Everything in his life had been disguised, diluted truth in every syllable. Maybe it was a telltale sign of age, compliance in some sense of the word, boredom with his upper-class life, but all he really wanted now were the truths.

He shivered, electrical wires of anxiety bounding through his veins. He would stand for nothing but the words he spoke tonight. It was his only chance at restoring some sort of agreement, in the least, with the mother of his only offspring.

Glancing up at the stars, a woven blanket of sparkling beacons, and Chuck wondered if they could guide him tonight, he prayed they would.

As much as he had held images of Blair in his being for the past eight years, as many times as he had fancied a life with her, his thoughts had only held one dimension then and nothing of what belonged in the present. She was, in his minds eye, just as she had been at twenty. His mental recognition of her had been paused then, frozen in place. And, no matter how much he loved her, she was a different woman now and the facts remained as solid as concrete.

Chuck didn't know her anymore, he didn't know his children. The only link between them were strands of DNA, it was the only claim he could stake to their lives. The thought alone hurt, as though he were pressing on a bruise, it was never meant to be this way. He had always promised he would never relive his father's mistakes and yet he had been all this time, even unintentionally.

The only thing he knew, as if it were much of anything, was that he needed to fight for her, for them. The love that had drawn him to Blair might be left in the depths of the past, but they would have to learn to live with each other now. She had no choice, he wouldn't give her one.

After all, they were merely one hidden meaning in a tapestry of years apart, things he could hardly recognize without squinting.

She would probably call him heartless, misunderstand his actions. If Chuck knew nothing else at this stage in the game, it was that he was stepping in on lives, breaking down carefully built up facts. But, he could only digest them as well as they came, and he hardly knew enough.

Dropping the cigarette, he ground it into the pavement and started towards the front door of the restaurant.

His love for Blair had once been a circuit board of lights, beaming and gentle, igniting the darkest corners of his apartment, of his life. Now, he simply wanted to hate her, to act as though he could leave the past in the past where it truly belonged, but what if he couldn't, not yet?

Chuck narrowed his eyes, adjusting to the lack of lamplight in the space. A waitress, long blonde hair and aqua eyes, guided him past statues of wax candles and towards his table, an irritated Blair already in the booth. She didn't move to stand up, to raise her eyes to his; she only frowned as she shifted in her seat.

"Anything to drink?" The waitress asked, handing them menus.

"Rum and coke," Blair replied in cold harsh tones.

The woman scribbled something on a pad of paper and turned her aqua eyes on him.

"A bottle of Perrier," He requested, "That is, if you have it." The bohemian style of the restaurant made him doubtful.

Then, they were suddenly alone; tension thick as boiling water.

His eyes skimmed her heart shaped face, she gave nothing away.

There was fire in her eyes, raging, lips in a thin line. "Charles," she acknowledged with a curt nod.

"Waldorf," He responded, "I guess its seven o'clock somewhere, right?"

"Don't tempt me," She deadpanned, looking over her menu at him. "I might as well try to make this less miserable than it already is."

"I'm flattered," He smirked.

"Don't be," She said, narrowing her eyes.

Chuck's heart was hammering against his chest, his nostrils flaring. He knew that if he moved, if he even breathed too suddenly, he might grab her hand, pull her into his arms, tell her to stop this nonsense. He clenched his fists at his sides, away from view.

Blair set her menu down, a beat of silence passed. The drinks slipped onto the table almost un-noticed and she finished hers in two swift gulps. After another quiet glass of scotch and half a bottle of bubbling water, her gaze melted a little, jagged even still.

"Look," She pushed hair out of her eyes, "Why don't we just skip dinner and get straight to ripping each other apart?"

Chuck looked away. The intensity of her stare held him in place and all he could see in her eyes were the missing pieces. The gaps he needed to fill were pasted all over her skin.

No amount of documentation, grainy pictures or wildfire rumour could sew him together as well as her words could. The little rounded messages that fell from glossed lips. He needed Blair to tell him what happened. He needed her to explain to him the reasons, how they'd gotten so broken, so unable to be together, that she'd married someone else, raised his children with another man.

He realized he hadn't said anything when Blair sighed.

"What do you want from me Chuck?" She asked.

Everything, he thought.

His tone was softer than he'd imagined it would be. "Why did you leave?" His lips curled across sharp teeth. He leaned into the back of the booth, his dry throat screaming for alcohol.

"You already know," She said, "Don't ask me that."

"If I knew," He parried, "There would be no reason for me to ask, now would there?"

She leaned forward, her milky skin caught under the light. The diamonds in her wedding band glinted in the near darkness. "This is what you wanted is it not?" She smiled sourly. "It's not really as hard as seems for you to be a responsible normal adult for a couple of hours, right? I have a lot on the line here, things you're trying to take away from me because of a choice I made years ago. There's entire life here but I can see that you're not ready to accept any of that."

"I can't accept what I don't know," He snarled.

Her response was quick, sharp. "It's ancient history Chuck."

"Is that all it is to you? I'm ancient history? It doesn't feel so ancient to me." He could tell she was just drunk enough to be slightly less deceptive.

"Eight years is a long time," She defended, "Longer than you'd think."

The mood had shifted, hot and loud to soft and gentle. Everyone had fallen away except for her, the heart-shaped face, hazelnut curls draped across her shoulders.

"You have to give me a chance," He said finally. It was true, he needed that much, what she hadn't given him before.

Blair scoffed, tracing her finger along the rim of her glass. It had been refilled at some point.

"I gave you so many chances Bass." It was said pointedly, to sting. He ignored it. "My entire fucking life was about giving you chances. Maybe, I was just sick of the same old thing."

"And this is your justification, what helps you sleep at night I suppose?"

He flagged down a waiter, ordering voka, three fingers on the rocks.

Blair shook her head, dropping it into her hands. "No, it's not. It made sense to me when I was young, young and stupid. I don't expect you to understand, I never could."

"Then I won't," He said simply, even if he desperately wanted to know how she could make this seem right.

Silence dragged between them, old and dusty.

Blair lifted her head, straightening her spine, her eyes on his, strong again. "You left me long before I left you. You were there," She gestured with a hand, "But you were never really _there_. I hardly saw you and when I did you were almost empty, used up from work, from your father's expectations. I saw it in your eyes, the hunger for approval, even from someone beyond the grave. You would have done anything to get it, to accomplish it all."

Blair inhaled sharply. "Somewhere along the line I woke up one day and you'd forgotten about me. I had to let you go, I did what was best."

Chuck was spinning; the emotion was raw, bubbling in his throat. He could hardly express it, place it anywhere inside himself.

"I never forgot about you," He said lamely, wishing he hadn't said anything at all.

She blinked, laughing dryly. "It wasn't enough for you. Please Chuck; don't hate me because I found something that is."

For a moment he lost his anger, misplaced it in a thicket of confusion. Then, it hit him all at once, running through his veins without apology.

"It still doesn't give you the right to go on as if I never existed as if I wasn't the father of your kids."

She winced at his words, as if they had shocked her. Blair stood up, clambering to get her coat, pulling it over her body. "I have to go," She whispered.

Chuck's nostrils flared, she was walking away from him with the same sad eyes, the same fractured movements. Again.

He rushed outside, trailing her onto the street. The cold air hit his bare skin like a thousand needles. Chuck reached for her arm, grabbing it. "Wait," He breathed heavily. He expected her to struggle but she stopped, allowing herself to be within his grasp if only for a minute.

When she turned to him there were tears in her eyes, diamond letters falling from her eyelashes. "You're in my thoughts every day, whether I want you to be or not. Tula," Blair bit out her name, "her smile is yours. They both have your eyes, your hair. I never get to forget about you, not even for a second! In some weird way you've always been a part of my life, in every big way and I guess you always will be. I've accepted it now, not that I ever had much choice. You don't know how much it hurts," She whispered, "Or how long it took. So go back to your apartment, live your life, you're not ready for this."

Before he could say anything she yanked herself from his hold, slinking into a crowd and Chuck was alone.

Alone with a piece of the past he never thought he'd get back, images of his children falling through his thoughts, one after the other. The love.


	14. Proposals of distance

A/N: Props to **kate2008**, legit a really amazing beta (: And also, I just have to say, you reviewers/readers are so freakin' amazing .. ! I hope you continue to read this story and review it (if you can) because your feedback is seriously beyond great. Anyway, enough of my blabbering, happy reading.

* * *

_I'm always where I need to be_  
_I always thought I'd end up with you eventually._  
_Say whatever comes naturally,_  
_Oh I hope it doesn't hurt_  
_But I still don't care_  
_Because i'm always where I need to be_  
_-- The kooks_

**Chapter Fourteen:**

Days passed in neat rows of distraction, sewn together by obligation, hours that pushed Blair towards exhaustion with sticky fingers. Mark's arrival had been postponed for another two days by Wednesday of the following week as she had begrudgingly expected of Chuck. In the meantime, she was looping ribbons of dishonesty as tightly as she could manage, solely occupied with the thought of holding everything together that she didn't notice the pieces slipping out of her hands.

Grey clouds were spreading across the Manhattan skyline as she ushered the kids into the entryway, watching them disappear up the stairs. She stood there for a moment, feeling the cold air that sat around her, before moving into the kitchen. In Mark's absence she had been trying to maintain a routine, as hollow as it had to be, even if it meant sitting in mid-afternoon traffic for hours on end every day.

Conversations between them were few and far between, thinly spread under blankets of avoidance. His voice melted through the phone lines, weaving around her body, making her the liar that she was, every word itself became heavy and complicated. At night she laid alone in their bed, silent tears dripping towards her chin and caressed by listless sleep she dreamt in pearly film, of the days when she had been so connected to Chuck Bass that they had believed their relationship could last forever. It was a barrage of whimsical laugher, brunette curls and argyle socks.

They were fragments of the people they had been, mere patches of dried up romance that had never pursued reality well. She had only done what she could do.

Blair lingered around the phone, drifting towards the fridge, anxiety bubbling in the pit of her stomach. Whenever she had time to think, she wondered when Mark would call, how long Chuck could continue to keep her husband away from her and how she would explain it to her children, her own mistakes made into an excuse.

Chuck Bass, the man who was creating this, holding it up, needing her to be the woman she no longer was. The stress of a secret revealed had caused her to be some variation of drunk every time she'd seen him. She had learned that his presence was forceful and it was difficult to be next to him, breathing the same air as he and still glue together formulated lies that moved towards the space between them. Always so little space. He remained a smudged figure in her thoughts, the careful lines of his face, the deep colour of his eyes only vivid in her dreams.

She was trying to keep everything separated, as far away from what he wanted to know as she could get. There was only what she would give him, when he truly deserved all of the truth and nothing less of it. Not a minute had passed where she didn't recognize this, but she had too much to loose. It was as simple as that and yet the most intimate use of secrecy she had ever knitted into existance.

* * *

_Christmas Eve 2011._

_The frigid winds of December carried with them the scent of freshly ground peppermint. The weatherman's' promise of warmer days was dripping into the storm drains, just like the banks of snow lining the streets._

_Christmas was Blair's favourite holiday for reasons that stirred in the air like glitter thrown into the night sky. Perhaps it was the admiration for the season that had brought her where she was now, eyes narrowed at the fine print in a new cookbook, poised over the stove. An apron, spotted with flour and breadcrumbs, slung around her petite waste._

_"I went to Saks earlier," Serena sighed, "and like, I must have spent four hours looking at different scarves."_

_"Exciting?" Blair asked, shifting the phone between her neck and shoulder blade, chopping vegetables with a knife. She fumbled with the freshly rinsed carrots on the cutting board._

_"Hardly," Serena groaned. "Halfway through and correct me if I'm wrong, but like, a scarf doesn't say 'I love you' does it? It says ... 'hey, I really like you, here's some coloured wool."_

_"S, you're over thinking this." Blair turned away from the stove, wiping at her apron with her hands. "Nate's laid back he'll think it's sweet if you just buy him a card."_

_"A card? But that's so simple."_

_"I don't know then," Blair barked. Her head suddenly throbbing._

_There was a beat of silence. "Whoa B, no need to get bitchy."_

_Her stomach lurched and she reached up to rub at her temples, distracted. "I'm going to throw up," She grumbled, dropping the phone onto the counter and sprinting to the bathroom._

_When the scarce contents of her lunch had been emptied into the toilet Blair leaned against the bowl, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The stomach flu on Christmas? Check. She washed her hands and lugged her exhausted body back to the kitchen, avoiding the wall of boxes that surrounded her. The smell of burnt chicken lingered in the air._

_Minutes later dinner sat on a pot warmer in the middle of the dinning room table. The instant gravy Blair had painstakingly added the correct amount of water to, solid goo on the bottom of the pan. She pushed back her hair, curving her body into a question mark, her head in her hands._

_Why had she attempted to cook for the first time on a day that was so reliant on the nature of festive and fabulous dinners? Because she was an idiot._

_When she finally remembered about Serena, waiting on the phone, she was struggling to keep herself from over-reacting._

_"B, are you okay?" _

_Blair's ragged breath was loud static between them. "I have the stomach flu," She explained, "Tess gave it to me and I feel absolutely disgusting." She cringed at her own words, the taste in her mouth, the idea of being sick during her most cherished holiday._

_"Oh --"_

_Blair cut her off, "And everything is fine. If you don't count the fact that I burnt dinner to a crisp." She bit the last word out in jagged sarcasm, "Literally."_

_"Isn't it just you and Chuck this year?"_

_"He's coming home from Tokyo tonight S, and I --" Blair tugged at loose strands of her hair "I just wanted everything to be perfect. I look like Frankenstein, I'm still not dressed and my main attraction is no longer edible. Plus, because I'm so fabulous, I haven't even unpacked one thing since we moved in."_

_Serena spoke gently, recognizing the hysterical twinge in her best friends voice, "its Chuck. He won't care about anything but being with you. Besides, you just moved into the new place like four days ago, a mess is expected."_

_"Not if I throw up in his mouth," She countered, brow furrowed. "And it looks like a war-zone in here. I can't stand it!"_

_"You know, you don't have to run around trying to do everything."_

_"But we haven't seen each other in a week," She said, sounding rather defeated. The idea itself was upsetting. Blair felt guilt edge around her stomach, trying to salvage what common sense she did posses, she continued with: "And S? I think you should get Nate a cashmere sweater, maybe light blue. It would set his eyes off nicely and I'm pretty sure he doesn't own one."_

_Serena squealed in delight, the outburst completely forgotten. "You. Are. A. Genius! What would I do without you?!" Clearly, having had the experience of Nate Archibald and his stoner, slacking ways was every match of perfection for a best friend who had just started to make-out with him in expensive restaurants and dark corners._

_Blair laughed, "I have no idea. Anyway, I have to go and get a hold of a caterer now, I'll call you later?"_

_"You better," Serena whined, "But if you can't find someone, Lily and CeCe managed this huge feast, I mean it's literally mondo and it looks super good. I know everyone would love to see the two of you."_

_"Thanks, I'll keep it in mind."_

_"And B?" Serena added, almost as an afterthought, "Just breathe, it'll all be fine, I promise."_

_Blair hung up the phone, feeling a little lighter as she stuffed all the vegetables she'd chopped into Ziplocs, depositing them in the fridge. She edged towards the bedroom, trying to remind herself that none of it would matter once she saw Chuck. Not even the botched cordon bleu she'd slaved over all day. _

* * *

The light that filtered in through the half-closed blinds illuminated the specs of dust floating around the room. Abby sat on one end of the table, eyes narrowed, and arms extended across the empty table between them.

The lawyers were speaking terms, pieces of their conversation floating under the door, weighed down. Not a word had been spoken. What could be said?

"You know," She said finally, "I don't get why we're doing this so legally. We both know that you'll change your mind in a couple of days Chuckie."

"I won't," He growled, "This is final, completely and totally."

Abigail leaned into the back of her chair, examining her fingernails. "If you say so."

He sighed, his eyes falling on the bookcase not two feet away from him. Months back, the humid air of summer, drunken fights, divorce papers ... pleading for her to stay with him. It all seemed so surreal now, he hadn't known then what he was doing, why he was doing it. He had every reason now, solid movements to make, he wouldn't watch all of it fall to the ground because of her.

The door creaked open and the attorneys appeared. There was nothing to fight for. The iron-clad agreement stood up in any millionth of the ways someone could attempt to tear it down. It was impossible at best. As indestructible as seventeen copies of the same pieces of paper neatly photo copied and stapled could be.

If Chuck had learned anything it was how best to maintain paperwork.

"Well?" Abby asked, hopeful. She probably thought that she was entitled to something, two years of marriage, six months of dating. It was forever to someone like her.

"Well," Her attorney drawled, typically as fat and balding as they could get, "You have until 8pm tonight to get all of your things out of the houses both you and Mr. Bass share."

He watched her, blue eyes wide, she opened her mouth but was quickly cut off.

Chuck's lawyer spoke now. "There are a few minor concessions to the prenup of course. You're to keep everything you went into the marriage with _and _all the jewlery my client has bought for you over the past two years."

She was looking at Chuck now, daggers in her breath, barely registering anything else. "My diamonds, that's all?" She yelled, blushing with fury. "I couldn't possibly, as the wife of one of the most powerful men in New York, be leaving this marriage with just my fucking belongings and a few tiffany boxes."

He leaned across the table, his voice smooth, teasing almost.

"Diamonds are forever, aren't they Abby?"

Since she could do nothing but what legally was required of her, his soon-to-be ex wife relented. They signed papers, crossed t's and dotted i's., silence taped to everything, the pens they wrote with, the hum of the fan and then it was over. Simply.

The desire to remain in the room, to wait for the formalities to fizzle and drop to the ground, diminished rapidly and Chuck stood up, adjusting his jacket. "Are we done here gentlemen?"

"Quite," His lawyer responded.

Chuck nodded and briskly left. Shedding layers of his past as he walked, shutting the door quietly behind him. He was a divorced man now, he realized, sliding the gold band off of his finger and dropping it into his pocket. The emotion, whether it was relief or happiness didn't need a name because he knew that he had just left behind the biggest facade of the last five years and all he needed to know was that it was an accomplishment. Most importantly, he was no longer lying to himself.

Charles Bartholomew Bass, a married man no longer.

_

* * *

_

La Guardia was buzzing with people, the sights and sounds of arrivals and departures, foreign countries and places not too far away. Blair looped her hands around her children's tightly, guiding them down the corridors, towards the correct terminal. Her heart was beating against her chest, like a hummingbirds wings fluttering against her ribcage, dragged into the waiting crowd by the children. Their tiny bodies pressed up against the glass, searching.

"Daddy, daddy!" Tula and Henry yelped, waving frantically at Mark. His movements were a little worn around the edges, tired. He smiled and waved back, continuing down the aisle and out of the gate.

In one swift movement, he slipped his carry-on off his shoulder and knelt to the ground, his arms open. Tula and Henry slipped from Blair's hold and ran towards him, jumping into his embrace. They turned their faces to his, as he tickled their cheeks with kisses.

"I missed you so much," He released a breath.

"You were only supposed to be gone for a couple of days," Tula scolded, pouting.

"I know baby," He chuckled, "I was thinking about you and your brother every second."

"You missed us?" Henry grinned, his arms wound around Mark's shoulders.

"Did I miss you?" Mark playfully contemplated, as though there could be another answer, "I missed you more than you could imagine."

"Just checking," Henry batted his eyelashes shyly, "Tula said you forgot about us."

Mark caught Blair's eye. She gestured, with a shrug, that she had no idea and a flicker of concern passed between them.

"Why would you think that?" He asked, focused entirely on his son.

"You were gone really, really long," Henry explained.

"I promise that I won't go anywhere without you ever again, " He looked carefully at each of them. "Either of you, okay?"

The twins clung onto his shirt, smiling from ear to ear. "And mommy too," Tula added, "She was sad without you."

Mark kissed the tops of their heads. "And mommy too," He whispered thickly.

After a long moment he stood up, the distance between him and Blair growing smaller and smaller until he was right there in front of her, close enough that she could smell his hair, the scent of hotel shampoo.

"Hi," He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shifting his weight. Words escaped her. Two weeks apart. The longest they'd been without each other in almost a decade. He extended his hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Everything else seemed to melt away.

She fell into his arms, into a kiss that exercised every muscle in her body, lips curving against his. When they broke apart, breathless, Blair exhaled roughly; all the worries she'd kept since his departure were brittle at her feet.

The kids made a collective _ew _face as Mark grabbed his bag, flanking their parents on either side. The three of them, a family once more, started towards baggage claim together.

As she looked up at Mark, sliding her vision towards Henry and Tula, Chuck flashed through her thoughts. She wondered briefly how this would be different if it had been him instead of Mark, but the idea was just that - brief - and it fell away. This was her life, Mark was her husband and they were a family. No Basshole included - not if she could help it anyway.


	15. Sensible heart

A/N: Halfway point! I've been posting so quickly lately (unlikely of me usually har har) because of the coolness that is everyone who reads and reviews this story. And I just love your feedback and what not ... if i do say so myself (: Please review if you can, and enjoy the chapter!

* * *

_This is what love is for_  
_to be out of place_  
_gorgeous and alone_  
_face to face_  
_Oh I know,_  
_You're not listening  
I know you're listening_  
_-- Wilco_

**Chapter Fifteen:**

The room was dark, carved into the lights of early morning, quiet like dust, floating through the air. The heart-shaped face and warm brown eyes, twinges of a youthful blush branching towards her cheeks. This woman was a Blair untouched by time, braiding her hair in front of the vanity, head tilted to the side. A gasp fell to the ground in billows from the oval curve of rouge lips. His hand burned into her shoulder blade, pushing her shirt aside, his lips pressed to her skin. She ignored it, looping an elastic around the ends of her waist-length hair. It had been years since she'd had hair that length.

His hands continued their slow exploration over her ribcage, down her spine. Blair's movements were effortless, filled with a grace she had embodied only in naive youth. It ran through her blood. The measure of perfection she had since learned to let fall away from her ideals and grow into the imperfections it needed to be. The astounding intricacy of passing time.

"You're beautiful," Chuck purred, his breath stuck to the shell of her ear, hot. "I love you."

She turned, opening her mouth to say something, anything, but it was dry and heavy with the steel of lost words. She blinked and he was gone.

Cables of milky white flittered across the hallway as Blair trailed towards the window, her fingers flowing over the printed wallpaper. Blue. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet, cold air tickling goose bumps on her arms. The stupid heat worked in this apartment, no matter how many times she pestered the landlord. She stopped in front of the glass, the lights of London pasted across her irises. Home.

"Mummy!" Tula cried, flying down the hallway. She clasped her tiny fingers around her mother's thigh and Blair, confused, brushed her hands to her daughter's tuft of hair, scooping the toddler into her arms.

"Uutsite!" Tula pressed her finger to the windowpane, nestling her head into the curve of her mother's neck.

"Bedtime sweetheart," Chuck appeared at the foot of the stairs, a dozing Henry already cradled in one arm. Her babies.

Blair watched as he approached, memorizing his face, the soft city lights illuminating his flesh. He looked fatherly.

"Daddee!" Tula squeaked, reaching towards him with eager hands.

Chuck pressed his lips, soft and smooth, to Blair's forehead with a quiet sigh. Their daughter winding her fingers around the lapels of his jacket, tugging on her sleeping brother, trying with all her strength to bring the three of them closer together.

He looked into her eyes, sparks falling through her veins at the feeling of his affection thick in the air around them. Tula always detested bedtime.

"Dadee go nigh nigh?" Tula asked, her parents attention drawn on her. She yawned, puncturing the silence, bashful.

A smirk spread across his face, warmth in his gaze. "No," He said gently, "Mommy and Daddy tuck Tula and Henry into bed."

"Nigh nigh?" She repeated, eyebrows creased. At two and a half she hardly understood the syllables that dropped from the mouths of the adults around her. And yet the two of them had the entire world at their feet and two parents madly in love with them. She clung to her mother's shoulders, pressing her cheek to the diamond necklace fastened around Blair's neck.

"We'll just stay down here for a bit," Blair pushed the hair out of Tula's face. She was swaying from side to side, the hum of a lullaby on her lips. "I shouldn't be long," She mouthed to Chuck.

He leaned in, close enough for her heart to respond, kissing the top of Tula's head.

"What time is it?" She managed between peppering Henry's cherub cheeks in kisses, "It must be, god what, past midnight by now?"

"Just after seven," He let out a low chuckle.

"Oh," It seemed later somehow. They broke apart and he started up the stairs, Blair turned towards the window, singing quietly, albeit terribly, to her baby daughter.

A gust of wind passed through the house and when she looked over her shoulder, the flat she had known so well was replaced by a sea of wheat stems. Her hands were empty, the palms turned towards the golden husks that brushed against her thighs, her feet in the mud.

The English countryside spread across the blue sky like a beautiful fan, peals of laughter ringing through the nearby trees. The shadow of a man, wind mussing his hair, interrupted the deep blue of the sky. He was chasing two toddlers around a picnic blanket, falling dramatically to the ground, the children climbing over him, across him, yelping in excited nonsense to each other.

"Blair?" His voice was pliable like honey, a shadow no longer. She pressed a hand to the wide-brimmed hat on her head, her hair, ropes of chocolate curls, reached past her waist and curved around her hips with every gust of the summers' breeze.

Chuck was standing, holding the twins hands in his own. They were waiting for her.

She stepped forward and someone pulled at her arm, propelling her backwards, she fell onto hardwood with a thud. Partially unpacked boxes lining the walls of the master bedroom, the penthouse they had shared. His first real commitment.

"I heard you," Chuck was stumbling towards her, his hands straight in front of him. She giggled, leaping her to her feet and out of his grasp, the silk nightgown slipping from between his fingers.

"You have to catch me first," She teased, situated on the bedspread.

"Don't doubt me," He growled, "I always find you."

"Liar," She smiled, "Never."

"That's what you think," He parried, peeling the fabric from his eyes. He caught her in his arms, lips dangerously close. She pressed her ear to his bare chest, listening to the rythm of his heartbeat.

"We'll always have each other, right?" Her voice was weak, her laughter dry. She touched the curve of her stomach tentatively, cupping her palm around it.

"Forever," He breathed, catching her hair in between his fingers.

"I-" She swallowed, "I have something to tell you."

"What?" His voice was low, unsure.

"I," She stuttered, "You-"

"Did you really think you could run?" He asked, his words were suddenly hard, accusing. "Honestly Blair, I want to know what you were thinking."

"When?" She inhaled, sorting the words on her tongue into comprehendible sentences.

"I want to know everything."

"I don't know what you mean," She lied. Blair looked up and saw Mark, the blues of his eyes, arms locked around her body.

"What are you doing?" He asked, a confused expression spreading across his face.

She exhaled, and the coloured veils of smoke that were holding him together deconstructed. She was alone.

Blair sat up; her heart hammering in her chest, the stiffness of her muscles was almost painful as she shifted into a sitting position. _It was just a dream._ She slung a housecoat around her shoulders and hurried down the stairs, in desperate need of her husband's presence.

"Morning love," She walked past him, into the kitchen and towards the cabinets, pulling out a mug. Mark had hardly heard her, his attention caught on the newspaper in front of him. She knew this routine well and it brought a smile to her face, after hollow days of chaos, tradition was fitting itself back into place, as though he had never left.

She poured coffee into her cup, the black liquid burning a trail down her throat as she danced towards her husband on the balls of her feet. The jolt of caffeine helped to dilute the dream that she'd had, to leave the images of Chuck where they belonged, in the past.

"Anything interesting?" She wrapped her arm across his shoulder, eyes falling to the plates of half-eaten breakfast that occupied the other side of the table.

"Nothing really," He replied, turning his chin towards her lips. He tasted of bacon and ketchup, nothing of vintage scotch and young money.

"When did the kids get up," She yawned, sipping at her coffee.

"An hour ago," He replied, "They're just getting ready for school." Mark got up and Blair fell into his seat as he cleared the table. She grabbed a piece of toast off one of the kids' plates, nibbling on it absently, trying to combat the pull of Chuck's words that remained in her ears.

There was the clash of porcelain as Mark piled everything into the sink, trailing over to his wife. "I can take them to school today," He offered, "You look tired." His fingernail traced the blueish bruises under her eyes. She focused on the feeling of his touch, the intensity of their love in his movements.

"I didn't sleep much," She admitted.

"Why," He whispered against her cheek, "Bad dreams?"

She swallowed hard, stomach trembling, "I guess. You're not working today right?"

"No," He laughed, "Thank God. I'm all yours for the next couple of weeks before I have to get back to the office."

"Good," She grinned, nodding her head. "They missed you so much," She said, thinking of the kids.

"And you?" He prompted.

She thought about the question. "It felt like forever," She heard herself say, "But I know it wasn't."

"For us it was," He ran his hand up her back. "You know, I don't think I could spend another hour away from you or the kids."

"I lo-"

"Daddy," Tula was standing at the other end of the kitchen, schoolbag in tow. "We're going to be late!" She said with exasperation, a stern look on her face.

Blair stood up, walking over to her daughter, fixing her headband. "You're not going to be late Tula."

"We might be," She countered, pouting, "If stupid Henry doesn't hurry up!" She turned her head towards the ceiling, practically shouting the last words.

"Tula," Mark warned, "What have we said about calling people names, especially your brother?"

She batted her eyelashes as if she was only just remembering her audience. "But daddy, I said it affectionately."

"We don't --"

"call anyone names," Tula finished her father's sentence. "I know and I guess I'm sorry, but he's just so slow." She rolled her eyes and sighed for effect.

"You guess?" Mark raised his eyebrows.

"I am," She corrected with a smile.

Sluggishly, Henry appeared behind his sister and Blair moved towards him. Tucking in his dress shirt and cleaning smudges of HP sauce off his chin.

"Both of you have your lunches?" She asked, looking at each of them. They nodded.

"What about your ballet things?" Tula grinned, edging towards the front door.

"Martial arts uniform?"

"Dad put it in my backpack earlier," Henry explained. She checked their bags just to be sure, sending them down the front steps of the house with a kiss.

Mark stood in the entryway, pressing his lips to hers briefly. "I'll be back in a few hours."

She leaned against the doorframe, waving as the car pulled away from the curb and wondering what to do with herself until he got back.

Half an hour later, Blair was staring at her reflection in the mirror, sitting in a salon as the hairdresser worked at her hair, cutting away her curls in long strips. She had needed to think of something trivial and this is where she found herself. In a hair salon on the Upper West Side, doing something so uncharacteristic that it almost seemed expected at this point.

Maybe if she looked less of the woman she had been, she wouldn't feel the intensity of Chuck's love on every inch of her. Maybe.

* * *

There had never really been a choice, a moment where he could have done anything else. Chuck knew this. He needed to let her go, really set her free; that was the only way she might come back to him.

This was Blair and he had a lengthy and complicated history of hardly understanding the man he was whenever she was around.

For the first time since he could remember, to fight meant to remain silent, still, anywhere she would be able to find him and he hated it, loathed the idea to its core and yet he still obeyed. All business was cancelled, others were sent to different countries in his place, folders were put aside and meetings were postponed. Chuck watched the sun rise from his bedroom window, poaching the clouds.

Nights were spent in the bar of his hotel, washing away his inhibitions. It wasn't much but it was enough.

Henry and Tula Hutlen. His own children who bared another man's last name, the prominence of their parents blood running through their veins. He wondered what his daughter looked like, if she had any of his features, he had little go to on aside from blurred pictures and pieces of his own imagination, what was him in each of them. He wanted to resent Blair for being in her own corner, all the playing cards in her hands. Desperately.

If he did, if he tried to take them away, if he took the right reasons and used them for the wrong things, a custody battle, severed family ties, a world upside down, he would be no better than his own father.

And that was the last thing he wanted.

Hours passed and finally he left his apartment, the sun just beginning to set, locking the door behind him and sliding into the back of his limo. The bar was bustling, the chatter of patrons rising towards the lights as he took up at the empty end of the room. His back hunched, eyes glossed, she sat down beside him, the scent of lilac filling his nose. Her gaze pressed against him and he avoided looking at her.

He knew she would come eventually, he just hadn't known when.

Casually he sipped at his drink, waiting for her words.

"I don't know why I'm here," She explained. It must have been late, the crowds were starting to thin. He didn't care.

"Then why would you come?" He asked, building the courage to look at her, to settle the rousing anger in the pit of his stomach. She was really here.

"I," Her voice was gentle, unguarded. "I want you to know them," She finally said.

He looked at her sharply, drinking in her face. All her hair had been cut off, styled into a wisp of brunette bangs and layered pieces. She looked like Audrey Hepburn. It framed her face, doe eyes and pink lips prominent. She was so beautiful. He couldn't help but love her, even if he didn't want to.

"Do you think you can make up all this time?" He spat, "Because you can't, it's gone."

She was scribbling something down on his napkin and then she was gone. Her phone number, plain and clear, as if he didn't already know it. He picked it up, watching her retreating frame, the ink smudges that fell across the cotton as he finished his drink. Staring at the change in direction, wondering what her new angle was.

_  
__I'm not trying to make up for lost time, life is time and if you're ready, then__  
__I want you to be there. You've missed enough. _

He had given Mark back to her, a present on her doorstep, the husband she loved. The words were scribbled, messy; the loopy cursive was familiar, torn from pages of her diaries, the lists she had left on the fridge, things he had kept, in his own way, to keep her. But she wasn't his, not anymore.

Why wasn't she in bed with Mark, enjoying the splendours of married life? It spoke enough for itself. She had made the first move; she had come back to him, enough for him to know what he would have to do. Call.


	16. Cooney Island I

A/N: Hey guys! as per usual you never cease to amaze me in your reviews! This is kind of short but it's a two parter, I'll try to have it up asap. Please keep reading and reviewing, I love and appreciate every little review even if it's just a couple words (:

* * *

_It's worth fighting for  
- Paramore_

**Chapter Sixteen:**

May passed in days of rain and humidity. The short days had begun to stretch into rounded nights, the marks of approaching warmth in the new season. Chuck scowled at his clothing, feeling ridiculously under-dressed as he stood on the boardwalk, leaning against the railing. A cool breeze pressed against his cheeks and he shifted his weight. He had waited for this, the filling of a void he hadn't known until the emptiness was heaved aside, replaced with the reality of blurred truths. Nerves ran through the pit of his stomach, what if they thought he was as lame as he felt?

He picked absently at the buttons on the eggshell sweater he'd purchased late last night. An entire outfit for one day, brand new jeans that were anything but Chuck Bass, then again he was more than he had ever given himself credit for. This was a fresh start and he was trying to heed Blair's suggestion as honestly as he could manage.

_"Dress down, okay? Like ... low key and casual." She had edged on the phone, a conversation three weeks and two days in the making. Not that he had been counting._

_"... Down?" He had said, utterly perplexed._

_"Jeans ... t-shirt ... sweater ... you know."_

_"No," He countered, "I don't. I wear suits Blair, it's what I do."_

_"Yeah well, you can't wear a four piece Prada suit to Cooney Island, trust me."_

And just like that he had dressed earlier that morning in freshly pressed clothes, the tags recently thrown into the trash, with a wistful glance at his suits, lonely and perfectly ironed, lining his closet.

He glanced around, squinting as groups of tourists made their way through the thicket and onto the jetty just as Henry broke through the crowd, feet falling against the wooden planks. Chuck actually stopped, watching as Tula ran after him, her long brunette curls pulled away from her heart-shaped face in the breeze. The spitting image of Blair. He stood there, stupidly tugging at his sweater, searching for himself in her and then she smiled, no smirked - and his heart melted through the boardwalk and onto the beach.

He heard their mother before he saw her and the connection between them, whether she knew it or not, was thicker, easier to navigate and harder to cut into pieces. All these years he had been a part of her, never forgotten or lost to Mark Hutlen, no matter what she had wanted him to believe.

"Stay away from the railings!" Rays of sunlight fell across his sight, bathing her outline in sunlight as she ran after their children, another woman almost entirely. Her short hair styled with a bow that matched Tula's in colour and a flashing smile that spread across her face, rows of pearly white teeth behind cherry lips. The bits and pieces he could grab onto of the Blair he knew, he eagerly did.

He watched silently as the three of them ran after one another, gravitating in their own worlds. Blair caught them in her arms a few seconds later, peals of laughter floating in the salty air as she adjusted their clothing and bent to wipe a smudge off Henry's face. She was every bit a mother and he was their **father. **These two human beings less than forty feet apart, he had helped to create. They weren't there and then they were.

Chuck yearned to move but his feet were lead, his tongue dry. What would he say?

Less than a beat passed, "Charles?" Blair was looking squarely at him, warmth spreading across his skin and he smirked, as though it was effortless, as though he could hardly remember to breathe and shoved his hands in his pockets with a deep breath of anticipation.

"Blair," It dropped between them, husky and gentle, he cleared his throat. And then she was guiding them towards him until little distance remained between them. One hand on each of their shoulders as she tried, he presumed, to gauge his expression. He tried to keep it as open as possible, hiding any trace of worry or concern that might linger. Henry and Tula would either like him or they wouldn't. Simply, he told himself, just simple.

Tula was the first to step forward, curiosity etched across her forehead. Quickly, as though it had hardly registered, a pained look fell over Blair as her child moved slightly out of her grasp.

"Mr. Bass, my mom's friend right?"

She was inquisitive, he noted and brave, so much like Blair in few seconds. He nodded, maintaining his smile.

"I'm Tula," She offered, studying him just as Blair was. She tugged on her brother's hand, urging him forward. In that moment, Chuck almost felt his truths being pulled away from him, how could he be anything but entirely honest in front of these two?

"Do you really own an entire company?" She asked.

"I do," He answered, "Bass Industries."

"Oh," She batted her eyelashes, "I see."

"Hi again ... Mr. Bass," Henry interrupted. The little boy extended his hand, ever the proper gentlemen and produced a rather firm handshake, for that of an eight and a half year old. He rolled his eyes in the direction of Blair, as if apologizing for the weird circumstance under which they had first met.

"Hello Henry, Tula."

"Well," Blair seemed to sigh, edging into the moment with soft prompting, "Shall we tackle the rides or are we just going to stand around all day?"

In mere seconds, the children were beams of joy, galloping ahead and leaving the two adults to themselves, in the little space between complicated words. If he had any real idea of the moment, Chuck couldn't have factored this, dealt with it in any other way than to carefully follow Blair as she kept an eye on their kids. Silent.

The gravity of everything was magnificent. There would always be Chuck and Blair only in different ways. This was the first in a series of steps, of seconds and days he would hopefully get to be with them, to learn to know them, even if it was under whatever other guise Waldorf had to create. It was something and he was a part of it, always.

The minutes passed in blurs of carnival lights as the sun rose into the sky and gradually fell behind the buildings and onto the other side of the world. But all Chuck could think of, as he bought cotton candy and handed each stick of woven sugar to Blair, was that his entire world was in front of him, tugging at his brand new sweater and he wasn't as lame as he had thought he might be.


	17. Cooney Island II

A/N: Hey guys (: I know, it's been a while since I posted but I've been busy, graduatin' from high school and what not. As per usual, you are all FRIGGEN amazing! Thank you for your lovely reviews that are so lovely they don't even know how lovely they are. Thanks to the reader who pointed out that I spelt Coney Island wrong, however, I'm using a bit of creative license here and using 2 o's instead of one just because. Props to the always amazing of mine aka. **Kate 2008** (check out her stories, their fantastic. You know you want to.) And, now I'm going to stop this ridiculously long note and let you read the chapter. Reviews are always loved and appreciated, so leave one if you can.

PS. The quotation is from, "My sisters keeper." No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

_"Love is not an equation, it is not a contract, and it is not a happy ending.  
Love is the slate under the chalk, the ground that buildings rise, and the oxygen in the air.  
It is the place you come back to, no matter where your headed."  
- Jodi Picoult_

**Chapter Seventeen:**

_December 29th, 2011._

_"You know, when I said you could stay here, I assumed that you knew you would actually have to do normal things." The futon dipped in the corner, Tessa's body weight shifting with her words. The early morning air was crisp, carried along the early December breeze and heavy with the scent of ground coffee beans. Blair hardly turned her head, burying herself further into the blankets with a sigh._

_"Such as but not limited to," Tess continued, sarcasm edging her syllables, "I don't know, like, showering, eating and going outside, maybe even conversing with someone for a couple seconds beyond limited one word phrases."_

_Obstinate silence. In the distance someone, probably Mark, was moving something, a muddled curse passed through the paper thin walls as it crashed to the ground._

_Blair had nothing to say._

_"Well," Tessa stood up, turning towards the kitchen, "I guess that settles it then. I'm going to have to call your parents."_

_The threat was solid, burning against Blair's skin. She shot up, blinking furiously, combating the film of sleep that tasted foreign on her lips. "What?" She whined, "Don't. Please?"_

_Slowly, Tess cut the short distance between them, her expression blank. "We'll talk about it once you shower and change," She ordered, "You've been in the same dress since you got here."_

_If it weren't for the mark of probability in her parents actually getting involved, Blair wouldn't have wasted another moment before diving between the comfort of her dreams. Instead, thrust forward into the idea of actually doing something, she sat up, rubbing a weeks worth of sleep and laziness from the corners of her eyes._

_"Fine," She agreed begrudgingly, unfurling her stiff muscles._

_"Good," Tess countered," just think of how nice it'll be to move around a little B."_

_She clambered into the small bathroom, shutting the door behind her and leaned all her weight against it. She closed her eyes, images flitting across her thoughts. The empty apartment, her packed suitcases, the heated conversation that was so sharp it quietly broke everything to pieces. She peeled off her clothes, throwing them in the hamper._

_Water streamed through her hair, down her back, towards her feet. It was scalding but it woke her up. Blair couldn't remember what day it was, how she had really managed to make it all the way into Brooklyn before shedding any tears. Everything was blurred, like a memory built up in rainwater, its natural instinct was to evaporate._

_She turned off the taps and stepped out of the bathtub, wrapping a towel around her chest. The mirror, an oblong shape above the yellow sink, was avoided as she brushed her damp curls and pulled her hair into a high ponytail. She was grasping for the familiarity of this routine, only the scene had changed beneath her feet, the circumstance fresh. She changed into a clean pair of pants and a sweater from Bergdorf Goodman, things that held no attachment, the least reminder of him._

_"Chuck? Where are you?" She had asked, the naivety of her words ringing in her ears. She had just woken up the morning after Christmas - without him._

_There had been static on the other end, his cell phone fading in places. He had grumbled, a long drawn out noise she hadn't been able to decipher._

_"I'm sorry Blair," was all she had heard, but it was enough. It was no different than the millions of other times Chuck had flown out of the country unexpectedly, a mirage of smoke and mirrors, never anywhere long enough to be more than a shadow in her life._

_"I'm not," She had said, with a confidence she hadn't possessed. The line went dead and she hung up, but this time was different. She didn't feel the need to disappear in a sea of pretty little chocolates and expensive wine. The seams had split and everything had fallen into itself._

_She knew then, or at least recognized, that her entire life would be waiting, waiting for him to come home, to love her. And suddenly, she was in their apartment, lying in their bed, the phone still in her hand, when she had thought of her mother. A life couldn't be built out of faded promises, the brittle straw of bleached words. It just wasn't possible._

_Blair shook her head, spinning it off its train of thought, moving to open the bathroom door. Her heart felt much like it had been partly shovelled out, the other half not belonging to her anymore, but the funny thing was that she didn't feel it; it would always belong to him._

_"Alright, I'm showered," She announced to no-one in particular, flopping down on the couch._

_"I almost flipped out there for a minute," Mark chuckled, appearing at the doorway to his room. "The mute speaks!"_

_"Scary right?" She played with her hair, focusing on anything but the curve of his smile._

_"Should I be wielding a sword or something?" He asked._

_"Depends," She pretended to be thinking it over, "Are you scared of me?"_

_"Only when we're alone," The jest had somehow drained from the words stretching between them. He moved awkwardly into the living-room. She didn't know what to say, but then again she hadn't said anything for quite a few days now. "Mind if I sit?" He gestured towards the spot beside her._

_"Of course," She smiled, faintly. There was already guilt nipping at her feet for the days she had soaked in, monopolizing the entire living room._

_"Hey, I'm sorry about the whole, stealing your couch thing and the ... showing up without notice thing ... too." The thought was pieced together a million different ways. Where was Tessa? She always managed to dance away somewhere when she was most needed._

_"No problemo," He said, reaching his feet towards the corner of the coffee table, "Mi casa, su casa. Besides, Tess has a really mean arm."_

_"Thanks," She mumbled. Not sure if she really should be._

_"I'm kidding," He offered with that lop-sided grin, she could hear her heart beat against her chest. "I'm glad your here and, if it's any kind of compliment, you look like someone who just showered ... very ... clean."_

_"Oh shu-" It seemed like Mark could melt away the numbness; speak through the layers of muddled thought and action when she hardly even knew him. Suddenly she felt a laugh bubble in her throat as though it didn't hurt to breath._

_Tess poked her head around the wall and it took a moment for the sight to register. Blair had spent so much time in a plastic dream this past week, her eyes were still adjusting to the way the light filtered through the blinds, the words falling from people's mouths with intention, soft and touchable. She walked over, plunking herself on the edge of the armrest. Blair's hands fell to her lap._

_"Now, don't you feel better?" Tess implored, her brilliantly blue eyes locked on her best friend._

_"I feel okay," She answered, "thanks."_

_"It was for the better of mankind, trust me B."_

_Without even realizing it, Blair grazed Tess in the shoulder. "You're so mean," She glowered._

_"I know."_

_"What an evil woman," Mark added, the soles of his shoes pressed together._

_"Shut up!" Tess squealed, "Don't you have a class to be at or something?"_

_"A poetry reading actually," He corrected, glancing down at his watch, "And it's about that time."_

_He jumped to his feet, sliding his hands in his pockets, Blair kept her head lowered, her eyes on the floor. She had spent so much time here that it was like a second skin, but there existed an intimacy in Mark's gaze now that she couldn't manage to scrub away anymore._

_With a quick wave, he pushed back his hair and left. Tess turned to Blair when the door slammed shut and the dead bolt fell into place, leaving the two friends completely alone. She shuddered at what might fall from Tess' mouth. They had hardly talked, much less about why she had arrived at midnight with a barrage of suitcases in a mess of tears and unkempt hair. It was probably about that time. Conversation, right. She could do it._

_"So, are you ever going to tell me what's going on?"_

_Cotton had been stuffed in Blair's mouth; she was full of nothing but dried explanations. "I, uh -"_

_"Mmhm?" Tess prodded._

_"We broke up," And then she was crying before she even felt the sadness._

_"You and Mr. Business, always leaving before he even gets home?" There was distaste evident, like sour keys, bittering the words before they even met the air. Tessa hated Chuck, loathed him so much that she wasn't the least bit interested in knowing anything about him once she found out what he did for a living. To her, he was a blank slate, only desiring money, always hurting Blair. Two things Tess didn't care for._

_"Yes," She whispered, "I just got up and left."_

_"I'm guessing he doesn't know?" Tess leaned towards her, caught in between the meanings. She was struggling to keep the judgement at bay, but Blair could feel it anyway. Not everyone wanted to sit around discussing the undertones of classic literature for a living._

_"I left a note ... kind of." She must have spent a good half of the day just sitting in the walk-in closet, riveted by rows of neatly pressed suits and ties, shoes that had been polished and organized by expense, as if he ever really was home long enough to do anything but pack everything up again. The human suitcase._

_She had walked up and down the length of the room, pressing her nose into the folds of the collars, trying to memorize his scent as if it were something she would ever be able to forget._

_As the sun set, early with the grey clouds, she had taken a fountain pen and drawn her heart, in a messy hand, her signature beneath it in loopy cursive. It would always be hidden like their love, a silent passage of time but always there, retaining pieces of their affections, behind his Armani, in the place she had desperately tried to make their home, if Chuck Bass ever bothered to look, to dig behind everything else but the empty side of the closet that used to belong to her._

_"So you just left ... no reason?" Blair shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat with a cough._

_"I just ... I can't be with him anymore. We're strangers now, I hardly see him, I hardly know him, I can't just sit around for the rest of my life waiting for him to throw me a weekend, a smile, a kiss, you know? I'm not that kind of person. I never have been. And I know it's hard for you to comprehend this, to think that his life is anything but perfect since he has the money, he has the company, he has everything. But I have everything too, you know, so why don't you hate me?" It came out one after the other, tumbling, a brook of meaning._

_She wiped furiously at the tears that dripped down her chin. It was so complicated and yet broken down, digested, it seemed less somehow._

_Tess said nothing, she sat very still. Finally, as if another moment could break the tension, she opened her cherry red lips, running a hand through her blonde bob. "I don't hate him Blair; I hate what he does to you. I know, I know it seems like I'm not the best friend at times, like I can hardly hear you over my own self-righteous causes, but I do."_

_Blair collapsed softly into Tessa's arms, deflated. She blinked, feeling her friends hand rise only to gently stroke the crown of her head with her fingers. "I really hated you at first, but I couldn't imagine my life without you now, we're best friends you know, and I'm here for you. I want you to know that, to know that you can talk to me about anything, even if it's something I really hate, or someone I really don't like."_

_"I know," Blair sighed, "I know I can, I'm just being stupid."_

_"No," Tessa's voice was firm, "You're confused and hurt and upset, but I'm proud of you. You shouldn't have to spend all your time waiting around, I'm glad you did what was right for you, even if it was hard."_

_"I love him so much," She replied, "It's too much, I think."_

_"Sleep on it for a couple of days; weeks, months, you can stay here as long as you want."_

_The offer was warm, she wanted to wrap herself in it. "Thanks Tess, for listening to me, I love you."_

_"I love you too B. But," Tessa gestured with her other hand, "You're going to have to go back to class after the holidays, and shower on a regular basis and talk sometimes, not always, but sometimes."_

_"Alright," Blair said, "I guess that's agreeable."_

_She felt the bile creep up her throat and in one swift motion she was stumbling for the porcelain sanctuary of the toilet, heaving up much of what she hadn't really bothered to eat in the last couple of days. When she fell back onto the couch with a thud, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Tessa looked concerned._

_"You okay?" She asked._

_"Fine I think, just getting over that flu YOU gave me."_

_"There's some cough syrup in the medicine cabinet if you want it," Tessa offered, "it helps."_

_"No thanks, I'm okay." Blair rummaged through her bag, pulled out a pack of mints and popped one into her mouth with a silly grin, "I've got it all figured out." Even if she didn't._

_Tessa grabbed the remote from between the futon cushions and switched on the tv._

_"So do we have a deal?"_

_"Deal," She countered, and although it hurt to know she would think of Chuck, it wasn't as painful as it had been. She needed to be with herself for a while, figure out who that was, without the sporadic interruption of a man oversees with chestnut hair and pastel clothing, an air of butter in his tone._

* * *

Stars, glowing beacons, had begun to peak around the veil of early evening, glittering in the sky, heavy and full. If she were still seventeen, she might have closed her eyes, wished and prayed on one, but there was no greater reminder of the passed time, than the moments she found herself caught in now.

She lagged behind, Chuck's silhouette strong and broad, guiding the twins towards the Ferris wheel they had been begging to go on. Two seconds of their combined charm and anyone's heart became theirs, not that Tula or Henry had to fight for anything, and his eyes had already melted, turned with a love unwilling, the steel of decision. A change, Blair knew, she could only detect because of their shared past.

They tugged at his sweater, grinning from ear to ear, the expressions so frighteningly similar that she could trace either of their faces and map it out to the end of the world. Somehow it only led back to Chuck.

"I love Ferris wheels," Tula announced, her grip tightening on his arm.

"Do you?" He asked.

"I do too!" Henry added, his hair shining in the path of the light bulbs. All four of them came to a stop at the bottom of the metal landscape. It felt like she was bleeding a picture dry, just by being there, intruding on the memories that belonged to him as much as they belonged to her. Henry shuffled over to Blair, pulling her closer. She leaned in.

"Well then," Chuck said, "I guess we'll have to go up there now, won't we?"

"Pretty please!"

"Hold on a minute!" Blair declared, digging through her purse, she pulled out a digital camera. If the sky fell on their heads, she wanted to remember the curve of his lips, the way it felt like the burnt miscommunications between them could be healed. "I need a picture."

And for a second, Chuck watched her as she directed them towards the Ferris wheel, all three of them standing there, and she felt it, the pitter patter of her own heart. Then, the second was captured, Tula and Henry enclosed in Chuck's arms, smiling like she had never seen him smile. He looked at Henry and Tula like they were his sun, his moon, the Earth, just as they were hers.

This, if nothing else, they shared still.

"You're not getting in the picture, mom?" Tula asked, curiosity floating through her words.

"I -"

"You have to," Chuck prompted, his voice soft. He moved away, bartering with a nearby tourist, who took the camera from her hands with a polite nod.

Blair smoothed her bangs, running into the frame with a laugh. It was all so quick, his hand sliding across her back, the uninhibited grin that stretched across her face, the silly expressions that graced Tula and Henry's faces and then the flash, that left all of them temporarily blind, as she stumbled for, and retrieved the digital camera, sliding it into the pocket of her jeans.

"Alright gang, lets get in line."

The pod was tiny, but they managed to squeeze inside. The twins excitedly watched the land below them get smaller and then closer, as the Ferris wheel made its rounds. She avoided Chuck's gaze, her head lowered and he took up conversation with the kids, both fighting to keep the bubbled tension beneath the surface of their words.

"We used to go on these all the time," Tula said, turning into her mother's cardigan.

Chuck nodded, a flicker of longing passing through his irises. All the things he had missed with them.

She rested her neck on Blair's stomach, looking up at her mother, "Didn't we mom?"

"We did," She agreed, stroking her daughter's hair, tightening her hold on Henry's palm.

"They remind me of home," Tula blurted out, quietly. A wisdom beyond her years.

"Me too," Henry quickly whispered, leaning his head against her hip.

"Geez," Blair teased, "I've got a couple eight year olds going on fifty-two."

They had told both her and Mark this exact thing, several times. It's why they spent as much time as possible at Cooney island, it gave them a base from which to grow, when there didn't seem to be enough time to travel as she would have liked. To live out of her suitcase with her babies. She had instilled this in them, a place to be and even if Chuck already knew, which he probably did, given his adoration of private investigators, she didn't care.

"Home?" Chuck asked curiously, "What do you mean?"

"We've been on the London eye, two hundred and forty three times," Henry stated proudly, his chin turned up, a smudge of sugary cotton candy on his lip. She resisted the urge to wipe it off with her hand.

"Mom took us up there when we were just babies," Tula squeaked.

Chuck was trying very hard to keep from looking at her, to keep his betrayals quiet, but she could see it was struggle enough, to be in the blatant glare of secrets unfolded. More than he had bargained for and everything he already knew.

"Yeah," She said, emotion drained, "I did."

She knew what he was thinking, calculating in his own way, the waves of his hair as he pulled his hand through them. Blair was never one of those women; she wanted to say to him. Flat, outright, lined with nothing but honesty. But there wasn't enough space to breathe the words, hardly enough just to think them and silence fell in droves, wedging itself between them like gauze.

She thought of how easily the lies came from her mouth when she had Henry and Tula to protect. How bendable the truth was when one has a spine tempered by steel, all the time she told herself it was the right thing to do.

The two ex-lovers were measurements of distance beside each other while Tula and Henry danced ahead, the wind pushing against their frames, the four of them walking towards the surf. They had stopped at a shop on the boardwalk, convincing the owner to sell them a pair of ridiculously expensive sand castle buckets and plastic shovels, that now clanged together between the excited jabber of the kids.

"Stay where we can see you, okay?" Blair called. They both nodded and continued running.

She sat down on the sand, untying her shoelaces and peeling off her shoes, sticking her bare feet in the heated gravel. The last traces of the sunset marked long thin strips of colour that stretched across the sky, the waves breaking against the shore.

She didn't know what to make of everything that had been left unsaid, of the love that sat on the edges, that was proof enough in their children. It was weird enough considering them as parts of someone else, in the real way that she could actually see on her own, instead of crossing different points on a map and directing her thoughts on that next step, relying on the memory of his face, instead of the living, breathing man.

It was easy to believe, in the quiet of their differences, that they could just forgive each other. A frayed friendship, built out of necessity. But she knew that he could hate her if he wanted, maybe it would be better that way, if they could only skim the surface, forget entirely about everything but Tula and Henry. She had taken this from him, everything that had become her life.

Blair opened her mouth; she wanted to tell him anything. Instead, she looked up at the visible stars, sparkling balls of fire, without a sound.

She could still remember how he felt under her fingertips, how he tasted like elegance. A piece of her, wanted him to see her underneath everything.

"I thought I saw you once," She watched the way his chin moved out of the corner of her eye; drinking him in as though she was dehydrated. "I saw you once," He corrected himself, "I was walking down this alley in London and I passed by this restaurant. I saw this woman, long brown hair, your eyes, the window was frosted, I could hardly make it out and I was drunk, but seeing you, or hoping I'd seen you, sobered me up enough. I must have stood there for half an hour, not realizing I could have just walked in, right up to you. I swore I could hear you laugh, even though we weren't close at all. I thought maybe you were there on purpose, maybe you were looking for me and when I finally went inside, the table was empty, you were gone. It was almost a year after you'd gotten up and left. I fell into the bottom of a bottle and I walked away that night resolved to forget about you, to forget that I'd see you in every woman who walked by me, like some kind of pathetic loser."

"Did it work?" She didn't know how she could find the words, but they were there, brittle and breaking apart upon contact. And then, his eyes were on hers, burning.

"What do you think Blair? Some of us can't just stop loving someone, even if I am a Bass."

"I didn't stop... loving you..." She managed. She had just scraped away enough room to love someone else too, and even that hadn't come easily.

He continued as though he hadn't heard her. "I figured you didn't want to be found. And then, when I finally came around to it, I went to Paris, I looked for you there."

She had forgotten how to think, how to react to him.

"I never thought that you'd be in London, that maybe I'd actually seen you that once, you were just this breeze, sailing through my life. I fucking mourned you, like I'd never see you again."

"What do you think you were to me?" She retorted, trying in vain to keep the emotion from her words, it was painful. They were scars, not entirely ready to be read, to be opened again.

"You were everything," He said it like it answered every question, filled every emptiness, knitted together all the broken pieces that had lost direction.

"Now they are," She gestured towards their children, "I know you feel it. They're every bit of us that's good Chuck."

"I know," He answered, "I know. I just, I don't know how you could have walked away, how you could have had them without me."

"I did what I thought was best," She said it as simply as she could have, even though it was much more complicated.

"I guess," He sighed heavily, "I can't believe it, they're so amazing."

"Aren't they?" She felt as though the tension had lessened a little, it wasn't so much about Chuck and Blair anymore, only what had led them to Henry and Tula. "You've been great today," She added. He had been every bit the doting dad with every claim and no title, buying copious amounts of candy and entertaining the twins every whim with an unwavering smile that was so real she could almost reach out and touch it.

She had forgotten, somewhere along the course of the day, to worry. It had slipped off of her like rain in the middle of the storm. If Tula and Henry saw themselves in the plains of Chuck's face, in the way he spoke, she would know eventually. She glanced down at her watch, carefully remembering the time.

And, for some time, the two of them sat in silence, together and yet apart. This was her life now, a pair of dirty converse and easily maintained hairstyles. He had changed little, but then again, what reason other than their breakup, did he really have? At one point she had been full of him, defined by their stability, not realizing that the world wobbled on its axis, that stability was a funny thing to have, an easy thing to loose but a better thing to find.

"They love you," She coughed, covering her mouth with the corner of her sleeve.

"Well, their perfect," He said.

For whatever reason, perhaps out of ancient habit, she felt the sentiment in him and reached up, lightly grazing his knuckles with her fingertips. She expected him to pull away; instead, he blinked and remained still.

"I don't want to be Bart. I can't lie to them. I won't do this with you because of Mark or whatever other justified reason it is that you think you have. I can't be that to them. I know them now, Henry and Tula and I know I can't just pretend like I'm not their _dad_."

For the first time in a long time, there aren't words. The seconds between them, the grit of truth, was flung open like an ocean, and she wondered how she could reach across it, how either of them would be able to reach each other under all the specifics of passed time.

By the time she tied up her shoes, collected the children and called a cab, the twins' every step was heavy and mellow with sleep. She hoisted Henry onto her hip and he pressed his cheek into her chest, breath against her collarbone, just like he did when he was smaller. Chuck was not far away, Tula cradled in his arms, her fingers clutching his sweater in places. How many times has she seen this in her dreams?

Their conversation was trivial, sitting on topics that meant nothing. Words were a hum, spoken into the thick air that lulled the kids further into calm sleep. She called Mark to make sure he knew that they were coming home, just the three of them, Chuck dislocated from the retelling. Another lie she would have to uphold. She had always been devious, a schemer, but she couldn't remember exactly when it was that she had become a liar.

The look on Chuck's face was nothing short of devastating as the twins hugged him goodbye and shuffled with tiresome effort into the taxi. A reminder of the distance that separated them really.

"Run the meter," Blair instructed, as she walked towards a small alcove not thirty feet way, her eyes steadily keeping watch on the cab as Chuck followed in her footsteps.

"I hope you know that I'm not just going to disappear again," That's the last thing she had thought to do. "I know you want to be their dad, and it's weird, but I want you to be too, you have this right and I'm not ignoring that, I'm just asking, I guess I'm begging actually."

He snorts, "Blair Waldorf, begging?"

"Let me finish," It was said sternly. "I'm asking you to give me time to figure this out, to explain this to the kids, to Mark. I need you to promise me that."

"I wasn't going to do anything."

"I know," She said, although she wasn't so certain. "But I still need you to promise."

"Like it'll actually matter?" He asked.

"It does," She replied.

"I promise," And he sighed. Before she even knew what she was doing, his arms were wrapped around her waist, drawn into embrace, only she's careful not to linger on his scent, the curve of his body holding her.

As she climbed into the taxi, snuggling between Henry and Tula, Blair was reminded of this article she read once, about stars in the night sky that look brighter than the others. It was when one looked at them in the glare of a telescope that they realized they were looking at twins. The two stars rotated around each other, and sometimes it took a hundred years for them to do it, but they created so much gravitational pull that there was no room for anything else.

Only, she didn't really know what it meant or why she had thought of it in the first place, as the car pulled away from the curb, leaving Chuck Bass standing there.


	18. You and I

A/N: Why hello there. Here is the next chapter, busy filling things in. I really haven't had much inspiration for this story as of late but I'm keeping at it. Leave me some inspiration? (also known as a review) Always much appreciated.

* * *

_Walking along with his soul in his lungs.  
Ya stare at him long you can find a new song.  
Everyone thinks they've got a new phrase.  
But you're still miles away.  
You're still miles away.  
I said, "You're still miles away."_

Hold me now. Don't start shaking.  
You keep me safe.  
Don't ever think you're the only one **  
**when times are tough in your new age  
- The Polyphonic spree

**Chapter Eighteen:**

Humid air filled the master suite and rose to the ceiling. The scent of summer flowers was carried along, like beads on a necklace, glass one could look though. A cat eye marble. Blair leaned against the backboard, eyes closed as she imagined the silence between her and Mark growing into weeds, taking root between them.

She wondered how she could break the air, make more room for thought. A book sat sitting between her fingers but the words were like water, drifting down the margins.

He glanced up from the crossword he had been doing, she pretended not to notice. Blinked.

"Did you guys have fun today?" Mark asked.

She nodded, looked over at the bedside table behind him, at her own hands as she set the book down and organized a response.

Tula and Henry were tiny against the chests of their parents as they had been carried up the stairs and tucked into bed. Two cups of hot milk, fervent kisses on the cheek and they had fallen asleep. No words had really been exchanged.

"It was great," She smiled - a shadow, "you were missed though."

"I know," He sighed, "but I just figured I'd let you guys do your thing. I needed to catch up on some stuff around here anyway."

"I guess, but they don't even want to spend time with me, all they want is their dad." It was true.

He was their father, the man who had been there through everything, who had held her up when she fell, brushed the sweat off her forehead, cradled them in his arms hours after birth. He was everything to her.

"What about you?" He raised an eyebrow, "Did you miss me?"

She pressed her hand to his bare chest, "I'd be lying if I didn't say I hadn't considered it."

More then he knew.

"Oh," He kissed his way down her neck, slow and deliberate, pools of warmth. She fluttered.

"We ran into Chuck Bass," She sighed, looking down at him.

He froze, his hands resting on her thighs, perplexed. She hoped she hadn't laid too much into the way the words had rolled off her tongue.

"And?" He prompted, curious probably as to why she had felt the need to tell him just then.

The whole thing was tangled, there were thousands more reasons then she could unwind or measure in lengths but she needed to start somewhere, fill him in with the pieces.

She propped herself on her elbows and he shifted onto his ankles at the edge of the bed, his eyes on her own.

"Yeah, he was there scouting buildings for a new development I guess," She explained. "I saw him on the boardwalk alone and before I knew it, we were catching up on old times."

He remained silent and still.

"Actually we happen to keep in touch with quite a few of the same people," She added lamely.

"Well that's cool, you guys knew each other in high school, right? I forget."

"Briefly," She agreed, they had just been two young kids lost in each other.

He grinned, lopsided and beautiful. And the pause was finished. She placed her hand on his as he kneaded the skin on her hips.

She knew him. His smell. Skin like paper, veins purple rope that she traced up to his shoulder. He wasn't smoke and mirrors, a signal in the night. She could hold him, feel his presence as much as her own beating heart.

He moved to her ear, lips settled there. "I wish I had known you as a teenager," He whispered, soft like a paper crane.

Mark. The captain of the debate team, a proud athlete, the boy with a solid upbringing in rural Boston.

And all she had to show for her high school years were the schemes she seemed to occasionally pull off and the friendships she had maintained simply for status. She would have eaten him for breakfast had they met back then.

"Why would you want to?" She asked, he had never expressed an interest before.

"I've never known all of you," He replied, "It sometimes feels like I don't have much to go on."

The way he said it seemed so common, a secret she should have already known.

She grabbed his chin, searched his eyes, kissed him roughly, an abandon in the way she prodded his tongue with her own. He tasted of milk chocolate and sugary coffee.

"You have every last bit of me Mark," She said, as they broke apart, resting against his forehead, "We make up each other, don't we?"

"I guess we do," He agreed. His breathing heavy with lust.

"Good," She licked her lips. "Now, where were we exactly?"

It was with a great deal of chagrin that Blair woke up a few hours later, dew drops of grey light spitting across the floor, encircled in her husbands arms, that she thought of Chuck. And she tossed and turned within her own thoughts, the girl she had been, while Mark slept through the night.

It was true. He had everything about her in his heart, she loved him without measure, but Chuck seemed to answer to a different call, the woman she had been, the person she could barely remember.

And it was then that she knew she was reaching for something else.

* * *

_December 29th, 2011._

_The penthouse was empty, his calls remained unanswered, the flowers in his hand were loosing petals all over the hardwood floors just like his patience._

_Eventually, feigning calm that seemed so far from where he was, Chuck sat down and pulled out his cell phone._

_35 missed calls in the last hour and a half, all Nate and Serena. He leaned into the cushions, amused slightly as he scrolled through the text messages. The phone vibrated, an incoming call, he flipped it open._

_"Hello?" He grumbled, frowning._

_"Chuck?" Nate sounded frantic, "Hey man listen, have you been home yet?"_

_"I just got here," He edged, "Why?" There was only a small pause before he added, "Is Serena with Blair?"_

_"No ... she isn't," The words were solid._

_Chuck stood up, shook out his jacket, peeled it off his shoulders with one arm._

_He was tired, he wanted to be with his girlfriend and it had been one hell of a long flight, he certainly didn't want to waste his time on dances in the dark when he could be calling her, telling her that he'd come home early._

_Not early enough to still have Christmas, but it was something, the best he could have done._

_"I'm exhausted Nathaniel, call me later and we'll go for drinks or something."_

_"But Chuck ... wai-" Before another letter could pass into his ear, Chuck had hung up and turned his cell phone off._

_Silence. He toddled towards the shower, played out the scene between him and Blair over and over again, trying to perfect it._

_It might have been the way everything seemed polished, as though the floor hadn't been scuffed in a few days, like the walls were whispering from loneliness. He cautiously looked about, noticed that the hall was void of pictures, the ones they had taken together on their last trip to Europe._

_It was then that he jumped a little, tried to dig out memories of that time. The sun askewed most of it, the laughter was piercing. But now he could hear his own heart beat, the foot steps on the ground, not matched by another and he knew._

_He was alone._

_The foriegn feeling of anxiety bubble in his veins with each step he took towards the bedroom. He took a deep breath, pushed the door open with his palm, stepped inside. The king sized bed was perfectly made but the shadows that stretched across the square room left an emptiness, something was missing._

_He slowly walked towards the mattress, kicking his shoes off as he went, laid down across it, sighed deeply._

_Something to let go. He always knew she would leave him. He always knew there was a single thread, loosing count the further apart they moved, the more he loved her, the less he knew how to deal with it, how to see their relationships through to a solid base, the end of an era._

_And sometime later, he fell into a dreamless sleep, awaking only to himself, the dark night covering New York like a wool blanket. He stood up, brushed the lint off his clothes, turned his cell phone on._

_Chuck didn't need anyone to tell him that she wasn't going to come home, all her things were gone. The candle keeping the penthouse alight had left little trace of its existence. The worst part of it was that he ached for her, for the soft touch he couldn't get back, an apology wouldn't be enough now._

_The bouquet of roses he had brought home was crumpled on the floor, ground into the carpet by the heel of his shoe. He stood in the kitchen, rubbing his forehead, leaning against the counter. She was gone._

_He didn't know what to do with himself._

_The morning he had left her, the last moments she'd spent wrapped up in his arms before he slipped from the room, everything else but the memory seemed to melt away. It was the last time they had made love, had been together and not as apart as it often felt._

_He found the vodka she kept in the back of the fridge, gulped it down, let the warmth of it spread through his veins. The sun was beginning to come up, strips of pink and yellow flickering across the walls and for the first time in his life, Chuck Bass wept._

_There would be no point in trying to find her. If Blair knew nothing else she always knew where best to hide._

_And she had taken him with her, in the folds of her heart, the pieces of himself he had never owned. He was merely living with the memory of her smile, of her laughter._

_The ghost of their love as if it could have been more._

**The same night:**

_If nothing else soothed her, it was the sound of her city, its restlessness. She could find solice there._

_She shut her eyes, counted to one hundred, tried to hear the emptiness of the apartment, the people living in the apartment above Tess and Mark that were probably sleeping by now. A television blared in the distance._

_Minutes passed, the deadbolt slid back, clicking into place and the front door opened. Low grumbles filled the hallway, footsteps nearing, eyes still closed as the door slammed shut, locked._

_She felt lost in translation, a foreign language misinterpreted._

_"Is Tess staying at Brent's tonight?" Mark's voice startled her; she opened her eyes, nodded._

_He slid down beside her, pressed his back up against the couch. She could smell the heavy scent of liquor that wafted towards the open windows, the bitter cold air._

_His breathing was uneven and she watched him toil, his hands pressed to his cheek._

_They said nothing for some time._

_"How was your poetry reading?" She finally asked, sitting up, letting her hair fall in waves across her neck._

_Mark looked at her slowly, eyes glossed, expressionless. He pushed his hands into the corners of his pockets, stretched his feet in front of him._

_"It was alright," He smiled, "The same ol' pretentious bullshit."_

_"Ah," She said, "I could see that."_

_He was a meek drunk, sloppy, not at all possessed of himself but well mannered enough, nothing to hide._

_Unlike Chuck…the man with a tumbler in his hand. She would always know the sound of ice clinking against glass because of him. He understood the art of drinking, how to be senseless - he was always that way._

_But it wasn't an art, only an excuse, just like everything else._

_She felt the spark, it burned her skin, made her guilty but she just wanted to be held, to be intrigued and Mark did just that._

_He was someone her hands didn't know, someone with a smile that reached his eyes and lingered there, like golden opportunities._

_Instead, she turned away. After all, she was just stirred up and shaken down by the chaos of Chuck Bass. It would take some time to unlearn all that she had picked up in his love._

_"Do you feel any better?" He turned, looked at her and she felt it._

_"A little, not much."_

_"You know," He sighed, "You should probably go to the doctor."_

_It had been almost two weeks._

_"I think I will," She countered, "If it doesn't settle down soon."_

_They drifted into silence and she lay back down, crossed her hands over her stomach. Eventually, he followed suit, their bodies in opposite directions, looking up at the same squares of ceiling._

_"So, what exactly are you doing?"_

_"Listening," She replied, "Brooklyn sounds so much more ... alive ... then where I come from."_

_"It's because nobody living on the Upper East Side actually lives."_

_She wanted to disagree, opened her mouth and ready to argue, but closed it when the words settled enough for her to see the truth in them._

_Most people she knew enjoyed the days from the bottom of a champagne glass._

_"Is that what you think of me?" Her gaze slid over._

_"I don't think you're anything Blair," He replied._

_The blank slate._

_She was moving towards him before she could even notice, the little signs of surrender. She needed some other meaning, everything else was pressing so hard against her that she could barely breathe. There was a long moment of nothing._

_He swallowed nervously._

_And she kissed him, soft like crushed rose petals. He could anchor her to the ground._

_Thoughts of Chuck began to slip too easily from her hands as if they had been looking for reasons to leave her mind. She didn't make any attempt to grab at them._

_They made love on the floor, between each other with the thickest of touch. He was unfamiliar bunches of territory; she couldn't inhale enough of his smell, coveting the secret to being as if it might reveal itself._

_He was a different lover, a different kind of man._

_When they were finished, he didn't leave her side, his eyes weren't clouded with darkness, he remained still. It was the sweetest thing to happen in a long time even if she didn't know what she was doing and he was slightly drunk._

_And in the apartment above them, the television blared like keys to a forgotten musical._


	19. Lost in translation

A/N: I'm not pushing music on you or anything, but I wrote this to "Satellite heart" By Anya Marina and I think it fits the mood well for this chapter (if you want to check it out.) Other than that, You know that you guys are the best readers and please review! You know I love them.

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen:**

The singer was sultry; her woes were touchable silk, block words behind red lips, full and mysterious. She stroked the mic stand, swayed her hips, pulled back her long hair with pale spindly fingers. It was a ballad, a broken heart, something to do with nothing.

Blair nursed her drink, licked her wounds, stared at the woman, wondered how she played the part without betraying herself.

It was so hard to lie and hadn't she always promised to be true?

She was lost in the dark, under the glare of the club lights, the soothing jazz.

The day had been long, thoroughly tiring, every muscle ached, every movement was rough, carved out of exhaustion. She bent her head, scuffed her own hair, the short ends tickling her fingertips.

Soon, she would need to dig for the words, hollow out herself to give him what he deserved.

"Would you like another glass?" A faraway voice questioned, strained.

She looked up, blinked at the bartender in front of her, forgot about thinking.

"Please," She wasn't going to try being brave, she would need to be thoroughly drunk for this. There was no sense in sobering herself up, in being completely present at the moment where her own foolishness ripped apart everything.

Where could she begin, what would even describe enough? How could she tell him that she loved him but that he was right? There hadn't been much he could have owned, not enough to say that he knew every single piece of her, of her life. She had been storing away bits like treasures, hiding them.

Eventually, she managed to slide off the barstool and into a more comfortable booth. If she were Audrey Hepburn, the small frame and petite reasonings, how would she do this, how could she bring elegance into any word? It felt impossible.

She was bulky, a liar. Obvious.

"Blair?"

She looked from her empty glass, the fourth and up at the voice. Soft as cream, wonderment.

She was startled, he was earlier then she thought he might be.

Mark sat down, took her cold hands in his, warmed them with friction. She smiled.

"Mark," She said, "Hi."

"What's up?" He asked. Still in his suit, hair slicked back, the slacks that she loved.

Let's go home, his eyes told her, but she didn't know where that was anymore. The only place she could find it were Tula and Henry.

The only other one she had known was Chuck and that had been so long ago.

"I need to talk to you," She murmured, "And I figured this was just as good a place as any."

"Alright," He seemed slightly confused already, "What about?"

What about? Everything. Her heart, his heart.

I'm sorry love, I've sold you down the river but I just could have told you any other time.

"A lot of things," She sighed, "And I feel like you're going to hate me and I just don't want that to happen. So, I need you to know that I love you and this has nothing to do with that. This is just me respecting you by telling you the truth, because I feel like lying to you any longer would betray us in some way and I don't want that."

She had been rehearsing it all day, the way she would tell him, but she hadn't imagined herself drunk like this, a little sloppy.

He looked at her, "I won't hate you, whatever it's about."

She wasn't convinced. "Oh, I don't know."

He leaned in, serious. "You've dragged me away from work, you've been drinking and it's barely five o'clock. Let me know what's going on."

She finished her scotch, drew her finger around the crystal glass.

"I was in a relationship with Chuck, a long time ago."

She wouldn't pause, wouldn't give him time to interject. All or nothing.

"I mean, I was madly truly deeply in love with him. We were together for so long and so close to getting married and then we broke up, things just fell apart. I moved in with you and Tess, I don't know if you remember or not, probably not, but he was that guy."

Mark had gone silent, still, she wasn't sure that he was even blinking. Her hands were still cupped in his but his smile was gone. He had shifted.

She took a breath, faltered. See, she was telling him, I'm not what you think I am. I don't know who I am anymore.

"I was childish and hurt, looking for something else to focus on and you were there. You were so sweet. You were there and things just went as they went and I didn't have any time to find regrets, to dig them up because you had helped me to forget about Chuck and that was all I had asked, all I thought was important at the time, moving on. I didn't know I was pregnant and when I found out, when we found out, I -"

She stopped, wondered if she could really do it, tell him the truth, lay all the cards flat and still be able to look him in the eye.

She imagined their relationship like plastic twines that binded his wrists together, dissolved at the first word out of her mouth. She had always been the one to leave, never the one left, how would it feel?

Stop, she reminded herself, I owe him this much. I owe myself this much. I owe everyone involved this much.

Her throat was dry, she wished she had more alcohol to smooth things over. She wanted to scream.

"I didn't know who the father was. I honestly didn't. I thought of going back to Chuck and you were just there for me, always there for me. And, you were so different from him, so much more intriguing to me, I knew you wouldn't hurt me like he might and I acted in some childish way to preserve myself at the expense of romance, at the hope that maybe I was pregnant with your child and we would magically be able to be together without fault. You stayed and I never got up my nerve to explain it to you because I found myself in love with you, I scraped away enough space in my heart and it just fit perfectly, you and I. I started over. I grew up, I tried to be less spiteful, more of the woman you saw in me. "

The color drained from his face, his lips pressed together.

"I just knew the moment they put Tula and Henry into my arms, I knew that it wasn't you and I understood that I would have to make do with that. I wouldn't get the life you had promised me, I wouldn't be the mother of your children, but I knew we could be a patchwork family, that I loved you too much to let you know that what you had been waiting for didn't have anything to do with you."

He pulled his hands away, turned.

"But you have everything to do with my heart," She pleaded, "And that was enough. And I know this is the biggest of all lies and I know that you probably hate me and that you'll never forgive me and that I'm a bitch and I'll agree with you on all of that. But you are their father and no matter how much you hate me, how much you despise me, the only person they've ever known is you and that has to count for something."

She was trying to feel him through bubble wrap, to translate a foreign language but he was already so far away she could barely see him anymore. He flinched at her graze, withdrew further until he was barely sitting.

Perhaps he would never speak to her again, never utter a word in her presence, but he hadn't stormed off, hadn't disappeared. He was still in front of her, begging somehow, on the verge of tears, she could feel her own sorrow at all of it.

"How could you?" He whispered, so low she could barely hear it above the music.

And he was really asking, wanting to know but she didn't have an answer.

And in one fluid motion he was up and out the door, the keys to the car jingling in his hands. Not another word, nor a question. She dropped her head into her hands, wiped away the tears.

_"What a pity, what a sham, what's the matter with you man? Don't you see it's wrong, can't you get it right? Out of mind and out of sight."_

What else could she have said? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry? That wouldn't have been enough. There was more to them then that. She wasn't Audrey Hepburn, she didn't run into the rain, she didn't follow her man, she left in the quiet of night, dispensed heartbreak in tiny booths in the early evening.

Time passed, ebbed and flowed, she stretched and cried, walked into the bathroom, cleaned off all her make-up, sighed. There wasn't much of anything to think about. The scotch gave her a headache.

Blair fumbled through her purse for her umbrella, criss-crossed the club and stood outside under the canopy in the rain. Her flats were gold, sparking under the lights. She was walking, joining the crowd, heading somewhere with no specific place in mind.

The twins were at a birthday party for the weekend, the house would be empty and the thought of it made her ache. She didn't want to be alone. All she imagined herself doing was thinking about Mark, wondering if he would come home, if she could possibly reach across and touch him, really feel him, apologize in a way that made it matter.

But what did it matter? He would have to break it down, digest it in bits, come back to it when he felt ready.

She knew the feeling all too well.

It wasn't until she was standing in front of Constance Billiard that Blair realized she'd been leading herself there. The rain pounded against her almond colored umbrella, dripping into the puddles, seeping into her shoes. She swished together, shaking lightly.

It seemed like so long ago, the day she had first seen Charles Bass as a young man. She had been sitting on the steps, leafing through her textbooks, surrounded by the excited squeal of Penelope and Serena as they talked about their new classes. It passed by her but she hadn't been paying attention to the syllables.

The bitter wind pressed itself to her thick stockings and when she looked up from her shoes, a sleek black limo had pulled up to the entrance.

Penelope and Serena didn't seem to notice him as he climbed out of the car, stepped onto the street in a pair of shiny oxfords, the scarf wrapped around his neck. She had been confused, he was Chuck but he wasn't, there was a rougher quality to him, his cheekbones were sharper, more prominent. He had changed. And when he caught her eye, Nate not far behind, she had flushed and turned away.

It was the beginning, under the veiled clouds of winter. Under the cloaks of her naive heart as it fell before it even knew it had fallen. And she had hated him then, just as she hated him now.

Right?

_So pretty, so smart, such a waste of a young heart. Call on all your girls, don't forget the boys, put a lid on all that noise._

_

* * *

_

Long shadows slid across the floor, pools of faded lamplight. He pressed his forehead against the wall, one hand on the windowpane and tried not to think about anything. The alcohol was making that easier at least.

The rain fell from the clouds, formed puddled far below. The first real signs of winter.

Chuck loosened his bow tie, peeled his jacket off, lazily mulled about the apartment.

At night he dreamed of Tula and Henry, the way they smiled and Blair as she had stood beside him, hesitant but strong in a way he hadn't seen before, couldn't have known without all of this. He dreamed that she had translated into someone else and the only thing keeping them together became the thread of lost connections that hardly spanned between them.

He tried not to think about her but in the two weeks since Cooney Island, he had only managed to go a few minutes without.

He didn't know what he was waiting for, the moment she would give him her hand, her heart even? Or at least give back everything he had left with her, his love like a cherished mailing stamp, the pompous ass he used to be.

The things he had lost the night he had chosen everything else over her, what he wouldn't give back to be anything to her, the rock she could have relied on.

But they were just two children with an idealized view of love, of the sacrifice it took to really maintain. With all the pieces in place, with every time line fitted onto its axis, he couldn't blame the Chuck and Blair they had been for falling to pieces in each other's hands.

There was a sharp knock on the front door, jolting him into the reality of his empty living room, the cold air that filled the space. He set his drink down, turned up the heat and stumbled to the door, drunk enough not to bother with wondering why the doorman hadn't called up.

He slid the lock back, leaned against the frame.

The woman turned around, looked at him and froze, re-thinking her own actions as she made them.

Blair.

She reached up, touched the bow on the side of her head, seemed to forget that her hair was short and stuffed it awkwardly into her coat pocket.

"It hasn't changed much in here," She said, gesturing to the hallway.

He was baffled, if anything by the way she had greeted him. It had been said in a way that seemed to imply that it wasn't unusual for her to show up on an old lover's doorstep past midnight. Maybe it wasn't. He didn't know anymore.

When he didn't say anything, she pressed further.

"May I come in?"

He swallowed; let her pass by him and into the apartment that shared their history. One of many things, he mused. One place he could barely think of without feeling as though he needed something from her, he just didn't know what.

_I'm a satellite heart, lost in the dark. I'll be true to you no matter what you do._

_

* * *

_A/N: Alright. This note is because I'm getting some reviews all concerned with how terrible Blair has seemed these last couple of chapters. Normally my response would be, "just let the story unfold," but I guess at this point a little bit of an explanation is needed. Chuck is a few steps up the ladder from Blair in compassion right now, simply because he never really let himself be with anyone else so he's had all this time to figure things out and in light of recent events, everything simply seems to click into place from all the years without her that he spent trying to carve out explanations. However, for Blair:

She went from one serious relationship to another and unlike Chuck, she became a parent, a mom. And yes, while I have been portraying her with a harder edge than you see in most ff stories, i'm sure that most of you know I do not write from plot. What I mean by that is, I follow the characters thoughts mostly and the slow transformation of action in relation to those thoughts. Action is derived from thought not the other way around (at least not in my writings) and while she hasn't been the greatest, she's simply done what she had to do, in the most realistic way possible. So don't be quick to judge and ... although I said I wouldn't say this ...

just trust the story and let it unfold!

I hope that answers some of your questions and perhaps gives you enough room to try and appreciate what Blair's character is doing right now.


	20. Exlover

A/N: You reviewers are fantastic, like seriously amazing! Thank you so much for your thoughts on this story as it progresses. I really love knowing that people are interested in this. It keeps me writing it after all. Big thanks to Kate2008 for being my cool bean beta and everyone who sticks with this story! So I know I've been pretty cryptic and everything, but take what you can from this chapter and leave me some feedback if you have some time (: PS. Can't wait for the next episode (specifically the bridge/red dress scene!)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty:**

"I came here because I don't want you to hate me." She sat down, the edge of the sofa cushions, the corners of her mouth.

"Oh?" He clutched his drink, his thoughts swirling like melted ice, drifting onto themselves.

She looked down, at her feet, away from him.

"What are you really doing here?" He shifted, pulled a hand through his hair.

She shook her head, looked up, back down again.

"I ... I don't know."

She stopped, took a breath, reached his eyes and added, "I want you to tell me that you don't loathe me but I'm not a child, I know I can't have that luxury."

He hated to sound menial and petty, but there was only one thing to say.

"And?"

"I told him," She turned her chin up; the dim light hit it carefully. "I told him." As if she were trying to reaffirm herself.

"What do you want from me?" Honestly. He couldn't sit there, listen to this.

"What do I want?" She turned the words around in her mouth, played with them. "You know," She said, "I don't know how I got to be so selfish. I'm a selfish bitch and I'm sorry, I apologize, but nothing I could say to anyone in this situation would make it less of what it is."

"You want me to forgive you?" He scoffed, not knowing if he could.

"No," It was solid.

She looked at him, blinked. "I want you to know that I'm sorry, you don't have to take it. It's not meant to change things. God knows."

He leaned back stiffly, sipped at his drink.

"Alright," He heard himself say.

It was funny he thought, the way things sometimes unfolded on themselves. He had sat in front of her for so many years, the same expression on his face, words falling from quivering lips, apologies so thick and fragrant, like homemade wine.

Blair please ... I'll be back ... I know ... home.

I have this project ... complicated procedures ... business ... I can't just let ... I'm leaving ...

But he had been stoic, puffed full of pride then.

"You don't think that you deserve it?"

"Probably," She admitted, "But don't make this difficult please. Can we not just talk like mature adults?"

Her gestures were soft, a little drunk around the edges.

"You can't ask behaviour of me that you don't exhibit."

"I'm trying Chuck."

"You sought me out," He defended, "And you're drunk."

"I seem to be doing that quite a bit lately," She mused, "Always having to find you."

"You knew where to look."

She nodded, looked around.

"I did but I didn't think you'd stay here- in the apartment I mean."

"I didn't want to leave."

He ached to touch her in some small way. He felt her in his heart and a piece tugged at him, as it always did when she was close enough, the man inside himself that still belonged to her. Somewhere.

"I always thought you'd come and find me, one day before I had the twins. I'd sit on the front steps of my house, pining for you. Then I started to loose the shape of your eyes, the way you spoke to me, how it felt when we were together and eventually I let it go enough to continue without you."

"You fell into another man's arms," He glowered. He already knew. "It doesn't take much skill to do that Blair, ask Serena."

She seemed to slow at the insult, sit with it.

"You already know that I still love you, don't think that I got over it." She blinked, sighed, rubbed her eyebrows with her fingers. "How many times had I tried that? It seemed nearly impossible to forget about you. I only convinced myself that things between us were too broken to fix and even _that_ took practice."

"You love him and that alone says it all."

"I do," She faltered, "But you were the first and only man I had ever been with."

He remembered.

"I'm so sorry that I've hurt you," She added, "And I hope that you can forgive me at some point."

"Is that all?" He didn't know if he could stand another moment in the same room with her, so vulnerable and small, grasping at his coat tails. The way his fingertips burned for her touch. He couldn't train himself to be any other man.

"If you want me to leave, I'll walk out right now."

She made a move to stand up, falling back into the chair.

He got up, stuffed his hands in his pockets, "I'll get a car."

With that, he turned and walked into the kitchen, found his cell phone, called on his driver. When he returned to the living room, she was gone.

Rustling.

He followed the noise, tried to still his thrashing heart, moved quietly into the bedroom. Nonchalant, straight jaw, empty intention. A fresh drink between his fingers.

Because he didn't care.

He didn't love her.

It was old news.

He leaned into the frame, surveyed the dark room. The closet door was closed, light peeking out like a secret.

The scotch burned a trail down his throat.

She was sitting against the opposite wall, hugging her knees to her chest, chin on her palm. Blair.

All his suits had been pushed aside; some were on the floor, crumpled heaps of Armani and Yves Saint Laurent. She was amidst it all and staring.

When he let out a breath, deeper than he thought it would be, she turned quickly, as though she thought she might remain unnoticed.

"You never looked," She pressed, both asking and stating in the same moment.

His eyebrows knit together as he followed her gaze.

Underneath the shield of clothing, she had drawn a heart, signed her name in felt tip pen. I love you, it read, I always will. Blair Cornelia Waldorf.

They had been so close all this time, so far apart.

He had never looked; she hadn't given him reason to.

He stood still, back pressed to the wall.

They stayed silent for a time, circling each other without words.

"We both have things to apologize for," He said.

She looked at him. Confused.

"I'm sorry I gave you a reason to leave me and then pretended like there was no reason at all, like I shouldn't have expected it of you -of anyone, eventually."

Say something, anything, please.

"It sucks you know. We never expected anything from each other but the worst and I think that's why I was always okay with the way things were. The few times you hurt me, I always expected it. It took me so much longer to wrap my head around you when I thought that way, when we both let each other be."

She stood up, staggered towards him. He put out a hand, distance. He needed that.

Blair ignored it, swatted his arm away like it was a bug, stepped closer. Her forehead to his, deep breathing.

He was too weak from her gaze, from the forgotten memories; he could barely keep himself from needing this moment to be more than it was.

"The truth is," She whispered, her hand on his cheek, "I love you."

He was grabbing at her dress, pushing her backwards, pressing her up against the wall before he could catch his movements, calm them.

"Is it enough?" He bent into her ear, hand creeping up her thigh. It was easier to act on his impulse to touch her. To be what she saw in him, the only person who had ever truly believed in him, loved him.

"Was it ever?" She put her hand on his, "The question of them all."

He kissed her roughly. His hand sitting on her bare thigh in the darkness of the walk in closet. If he couldn't have her, if there were too many variables, too many bridges to cross, he would steal his heart back; he would take this moment and keep it for what it was.

She tasted like alcohol and tears. Not unlike every other time they had kissed, but she was right there underneath him, there was no plane to catch, no-one to impress. The mother of his children, his first love and she was grasping at his collar, looping her leg around his hip.

They could be this together if nothing else, he thought.

She broke away from him, pushed at his chest, turned her head away from him. "I'm drunk."

"I know," His words were ragged; she put space between them quickly, backed into the corner of the room.

"We just repeat what we know best together, don't we?" She asked, not wanting an answer.

Yes. They fell into each other, crumpled to bits in each others gaze. It was the way it had always been.

And both of them knew it.


	21. Wasted hours

A/N: Several bowls of cheerios later, I'm back! Can someone say, _wowhugehaitusmuch? _Anyway, I missed you guys and I know a few of you have PM'd me, eager to get on with this story, so I hope that this update is worth it for you as much as it was worth it for me to get on with writing it. I want to thank nondescriptf for cleaning up this thing for me and giving me some amazing feedback that not only helped to round out the chapter but also kick started me on the next one (I may have to keep you if you'd be okay with that.) Which also means I may have an appropriatley timed Christmas gift for y'all. I am all about the reviews from my fantastic readers (that's you) so please send me some good ones? I had a crap day at work today ): ONTO THE READING. Ps. We are slowly but surely getting there.

* * *

_Wasted hours before we knew_  
_Where to go and what to do_  
_ - Arcade Fire_

**Chapter Twenty-one:**

There was something of scandal in everything that had happened, like rows of lights that you could see but were still blurred by distance. So much ran across the page as if water-marked and dog eared, too exhausted in itself for an explanation.

One upon a time, Eleanor Waldorf had been the picture of composure, always seen with pearls around her neck and beautiful teeth. Her resolve had been colder than steel then, stronger and lengthier too. She had passed little of this onto her daughter.

It was the conclusion that Blair was only beginning to unfold at the ripe age of twenty-eight. It hadn't been enough that she'd come to know everything separate in her life, watched it divide slowly and split down the middle, a gentle erosion of trust. She couldn't bare the thought of it.

She had been thinking about it all afternoon, the day that Dorota had taken her aside. She remembered it the way a toddler recognized shapes and colors, the details were more interesting than the whole, but she couldn't think of much. She was worried, light headed with the idea of having to explain it to her children, how she could go about with an explanation that completed, rather than destroyed, all of their memories.

Dorota's expression had been clear like the pond in Central Park, disinterested in the rocks that might later be thrown by silly kids, as she'd said that Harold and Eleanor were divorcing. They had fallen apart like a doll, half broken before the carelessness had involved itself.

She shuddered as Tula and Henry, a few steps ahead of her, broke the silence with laughter, trudging up the stairs to the house. She could barely hear the words, caught instead on the gleam of Mark's car on the corner, sitting there so simply.

The kids shook the rain from their coats, peeling off their winter boots with grimaces of effort. She locked the door and kicked off her shoes, leaning against the frame.

It was difficult to stay in one piece when everything was falling apart around her. She had tried to remember her mother after her father had moved out, but she'd been too young then, wrapped up in the naivety of youth, the memories were bits and pieces of nothing significant.

Cigarettes, silk kimonos and glasses of vodka graced the grand piano. Eleanor's drinks had always left water marks that Dorota seemed to shine away before anyone could have taken notice.

Then there was Mark, the bright eyed boy she'd known for the better part of her adult life. He had seen her in the pages before she had even been drawn out, the mere outline of what she could become. He had been the sculptor of this Blair, the one that had brought her into something more of a person than she had been before.

The world they had built over the past, however many years, was broken apart so quickly by the facts. The facts had slid between pillars of their relationship like gum, breaking down the material.

She blinked, knowing that he was in front of her now, naturally enough. He was somewhat like the echo of rain against the windows.

"Dad!" The twins launched themselves into his arms and for a few moments she was unsure of who said what.

He brushed a kiss to each of their heads, "Hey guys." Every action seemed a sigh.

He was quick to keep his words light. "Did you guys have a fun weekend with Auntie and Uncle?"

"Yeah," Tula quirked an eye, "They were pretty cool."

"What did you do?" He asked.

"Watched movies and baked stuff," Henry added.

"Sounds like loads of fun."

They nodded and after a moment that seemed to last several eternities, he set them on their feet.

Blair raised an eyebrow, "Homework ... now." They were already behind as it was.

The pouts rose to the surface, "But _momma_," Tula cried.

Henry was already trudging up the stairs, more eager for hockey practice than the several pages of homework that weighed down his backpack.

She touched Tula's cheek. "The faster you're done, the faster you'll be at ballet, honey bee."

With a grumble of compliance, the two of them slunk up the stairs, little lumps of mud, with the promise of everything that awaited after the hard work. If only she had faith like that left for herself.

"Everything's in the laundry room, I want you both down here in _forty-five _minutes!" She called.

He was still standing there when she turned around, the orbit that she couldn't resist. She wanted to wade into all of it gently, like testing the temperature of the ocean before she dived in. He was impossible to see through now, all the signs she'd always looked for had been washed away by indifference.

He was bent over the table, shoulders hunched forward and the silence was killing them. Blair opened the fridge, simply for the noise alone and the distraction of movement. She moved to the counter, pulled out the kettle and turned on the faucet._Normal enough._

At some point, Mark sat down and folded his hands over the table. And for the first time in ever, he was a blank piece of paper without any writing; she didn't know how to speak with whatever was there.

The anger pushed against the walls, no matter how quietly they both inhaled and exhaled, it fell around them. They both knew that they needed to be apart now.

Blair grew flustered, gesturing with empty hands, things she couldn't think of. Mark opened his mouth and closed it over whatever words sat on his lips.

"I don't want to go through this until they leave," She finally said.

He nodded without looking at her, agreeing.

After a time, the doorbell rang and the children were shuffled into the car, quick kisses and a cup of tea later, Mark and Blair Hutlen were alone. She had looked away as Mark had said goodbye to the children, like he might never see them again, as if she could be that cruel. He was a part of them, a part of her, of _everything._

"Did you think that I'd feel differently?" His voice was gruff, it startled her that he'd said anything at all. T

When she didn't respond, he kept on his tangent. "I mean, how did you _honestly fucking _think all of this was going to go?"

She didn't know what to say.

"I haven't seen you in two days, you didn't even call."

"Why would I call?" He bit back laughter. "I don't owe you anything."

And then she was near to him, so close she could smell his hair. "You're right, but you could have had some decency!"

"Decency? Right. I forgot that you know _all about that_."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

His eyes fell on her then, clear, as if he was seeing her for the first time.

"You do?" He sneered. "You're not going to take them away from me," He added. "I have rights."

And there it was, boiled down and separated. He was going to try and pull apart everything_this way. _Like everything had been nothing more than a young heiress running from her lover with only his children to remember their relationship by. If it had been that cut and dry, clean lines of lost time and failed romance, she would have waited for Chuck. It hadn't worked that way though, nothing much ever did.

She wouldn't have allowed herself to build another life and love another as completely as she loved Mark all this time. And yet, she still said nothing.

"I can think whatever the fuck I want," He said, trying to convince himself.

"I know," She replied, trying to listen without drawing herself in circles, she stirred and let out a breath.

"I'm not going to take them away from you Mark; you're the only father they've ever known."

"That son of a bitch can hire every lawyer in the city," He said, "I don't fucking care."

"He will probably," She agreed, trying to keep her voice light even though she felt as though the weight of all the air in the room had fallen on her shoulders. "I won't let him do that to you, I promise."

He scoffed. "What the hell does that even mean anymore? Don't make promises Blair, they don't suit you."

She reached out, felt the need to show him that she was still there, that she wasn't just going to change her mind.

"I love you," She said it before she could stop herself, "I always will."

He pulled away, turned his entire body to the window, rubbed at his chin in thought. And for a moment she thought he might cry, she felt the tears threaten her own eyes and she was grasping at composure, screaming inside for something to make sense.

"You never did," He blinked, "That's the funniest part of this whole thing, I mean really. If you had, then you would have told me all this from the beginning."

"I didn't know it was going to be this way," She pleaded, "You have to believe me."

"You still love him," And the way he said it, it wasn't a question.

She shrugged her shoulders, dismissed it. It wasn't important in the definition of their marriage. Chuck had been a ghost, only finding his way between her thoughts in the last nine years through moments of weakness, aside from recent months.

"I'm really trying," She strained. "I couldn't explain to you anything that happened in a way that would make you any less angry. I loved you and neither of us were ready." He opened his mouth to protest but she gave him a cold look, willing him to hear her. "I didn't go into this thinking that you were just a part of some lie that I was forced to believe. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you they weren't yours, I should have the moment I knew. But the _important thing_, maybe the _only thing _is, would you have loved _me _any less? Would you have loved _them _any less?"

Something flickered across his features but it was just a flash.

"No, but that isn't the point. This whole fucking thing is a betrayal Blair, how can you not see that?"

"I do," She said. There was nothing else to it.

"Besides," He added with a backwards glance, "Don't fucking apologize, I'm not going to forgive you for this. Don't do yourself any god damn favours."

"You don't have to fucking take it," She argued, "But I said it so leave it."

She felt herself distancing from the ideal, her words were hotter now, inflated by her own anger and resentment.

She flinched as he pushed his chair back, the scratch of wood against linoleum.

"What do you want from me then?" He asked.

What did she want? Even she couldn't answer, didn't know the right way to go about it.

"I just want you to know that I never wanted to hurt you."

It was almost sickening the look in his eyes then. "Well, it's too late for that now."

And a part of her yearned to explain herself, lay everything out neatly and hope that somehow she could make him understand the smallest piece of it all.

"When we really got to know each other, I had just gotten out of this huge relationship with someone that I'd been very much in love with."

She saw him curl his lip.

"You were something else entirely, the as contrived as that sounds, you were the light at the end of the tunnel. You made me happy, I made you happy. It was quick and simple and I relished in the minimalism of it all. I liked knowing your thoughts, I liked being able to depend on you, to know you how no-one had. I wanted to start over with you, it was never about running away. I know it probably seems like that, the whole England thing, it was just my idea of trying to introduce myself to this life with you that I wanted, that I knew I could have if I really gave it space to grow."

"At what point did you forget everything else?" He was further away now. She ignored it.

"You were the only person I could imagine marrying and if you think that this whole time, I've been in love with someone else, you couldn't be more wrong. It's been you all this time, just you. Please Mark, I don't need you to treat me like some kind of disease for it."

The seconds ticked on. "Every day of our marriage has been a lie," He stated, "It changes nothing."

She leaned forward. "_One thing_ in our life wasn't genetically yours but in every other way, you have to know that Henry and Tula, they belong to you as much as they belong to me."

"Don't bother Blair," He sighed. "Justification is just a waste of both our time. All these years you say you loved me, you say that you needed me, well where was it when you decided to lie to me? to wake up ignoring that my heart was hanging in the balance?"

"Sometimes we do stupid things," She said. It wasn't the best way to reply but talking altogether had started to require more effort.

"You've been seeing him_haven't you_?" Mark peered at her then and she felt naked, like he knew everything she had been thinking.

She did her best to swallow the lump in her throat but it lingered. "We've spent a little time together with the kids."

It was then that Mark lost it entirely. His breathing became ragged, his eyes wide, every piece of him she could have collected suddenly lost to the wind.

"All those years I didn't see it but I can see that girl in you now."

"What the hell are you talking about?" She said.

"The pretty little princess!" He yelled, "The fucking darling daughter who could do no wrong. The selfish little bitch who had everything handed to her. It's all you, it's always been you! You do whatever the fuck you want and then you expect nobody to notice!"

She stood up.

"Everything between us was a mistake!" He was still yelling, growing red in the cheeks. He picked up the crystal vase, full of roses and threw it with all his might when she began to walk away. He grabbed at her arm, holding her in place.

"I hate you," He whispered, it was moving between them and when he let her go, his hand print remained.

And all she could think of as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, was that she had been two days away from buying a ticket to France, from moving in with Harold. If she had just listened to herself then, sensed the danger in staying.

"I'm sick of everything about you and pretty soon everyone else will be too!" He called after her, standing at the foot of the stairs. His words swirled about and fell at her back, defeated. She had already given up on everything else he had to say.

The tears were unstoppable. She could barely see, much less think.

The sound of car tires against ashphalt as Mark had angrily departed, still rung in her ears. As she clutched the phone in her hand, quite unsure of her own actions, Blair took a shaky breath and dialled the only number that came to mind. It rang three times before he picked up.

"Hello?" He sounded busy, irritated by the little inconvenience.

"Hi," She breathed and some part of her was released with it.

When he said nothing, she continued. "Chuck? It's Blair ..."

"I know," He replied.

She tried not to sound sad, like the words needed more explanation than they were worth.

"What's going on?"

What _was _going on? Nothing ... everything ... something.

"Can you just do me a big favour?" She leaned against the headboard, raised her chin and wiped the tears from her eyes with the corner of her sleeve.

"Probably not, but what is it?"

"I know I shouldn't be calling you," She rambled, "But I couldn't think of anyone else."

"...Okay."

"Okay.." And in some way it was a silent agreement.

"Say something?" She pressed.

"What do you want me to say?" He sighed.

She imagined this wasn't easy for anyone involved. Mark was right. She was just a selfish bitch.

"Anything. The weather even, tell me about it." She was grasping at straws, feeling them slip away with every second she wasted trying to catch them. So much in her life felt that way, she couldn't imagine what she had put Chuck through in all this, she couldn't let herself think of it now. But with every word, her despair lessened a little, the tears were getting easier to fight.

There was a long pause where everything seemed to suspend itself, wondering if it would stay that way and for how long.

"So this rain," Chuck mumbled, "It really is something."

And if nothing else, Blair Waldorf could base herself in his words alone. The conversation lasted only long enough to remind her that she wasn't the only one in all of it, fighting to find herself.


	22. You Are Goodbye

A/N: Hey guys, I'm back! Even though I didn't really think I would be. Reviews plz?_ I need every single ounce_ of inspiration I can get from you so that I can finally just finish this story and take the characters where they want to go. Sorry about any errors. This was a very impromptu thing and alas, I'm too lazy to get it checked over before I post it. Aurevoir, my dears.

* * *

_I've got too many pieces _  
_wasting away_  
_Getting cold_  
_I don't know how to follow_  
_I don't think I should steer_  
_I'm asleep at the wheel now_  
_I don't know where I am_  
_Or why I'm here_  
_But I'll keep running around_  
_Until you see me_  
- Holly C

**Chapter Twenty-Two:**

The room had never felt so square. She was caged in by her own desires and mistakes. The one moment in time that Blair had to face at an even keel and the walls were closing in, her blood raged and her heart thumped and she was alive. She was alive.

Henry and Tula were sitting on the carpet and staring up at their parents.

Neither adult knew how to navigate this world they found themselves in. The silence was heavy and obvious. A stranger they had welcomed unknowingly into their lives.

Mark spoke first, his mouth unhinged with a gingerly sigh.

"Your mother and I love you both very much and our separation has nothing to do with either of you."

Blair crossed her ankles and uncrossed them again. She brushed hair behind her ears and awkwardly let her hands fall back into her lap. It was hard to swallow and to remember how to breathe.

The children said nothing in response. She wondered if this was necessary, if speaking to them so casually would be any better.

Mark nudged her. She didn't know what to do or how to speak or what to say but the words found her, slightly dry around the edges, as if they had crawled up from some dark space inside.

"Although Daddy and I aren't going to be living together anymore, we love each other and we love you. That will never change, ever."

Henry, who had been picking at his shoelaces, looked up at the ceiling and back to the floor. "Are you getting a divorce? Because Sammy's parents got one of those last year and now he has two everythings' in two different places and he only sometimes sees his dad."

Blair and Mark were slightly taken aback by the word. They had refused to give it weight or a timeline but there it was, a square explanation in a square room.

"... Yes, but I'll always be around buddy. I will always be your father, no matter what."

He glanced at his wife as the twins climbed into his arms. The shock of everything seemed to be swimming in pools of grey. There was little definition or place to the words and actions.

"You're leaving?" Tula had started to cry, small tears rolling down her cheeks.

What they needed was an explanation, something to cover every corner perfectly with no space for unknowns but life was so unpredictable, the English language wasn't large enough. There were emotions that could barely contain themselves and situations without a base.

Blair felt as if she were simply watching herself from another vantage point. Her milky skin and short hair, the tweed skirt and black heels, ankles crossed and then uncrossed, as sure of herself as she was of the weather and of all the seconds that had stitched together to build up the present.

Her children pulled her by the shoulder into the awkward embrace and in some small way, she felt as though she wasn't wasting away any longer. The four of them were so squished together on the couch that she thought if there could be a flicker of silence, the hum of their hearts would synchronize. And she was grateful for this moment, even though she would never know what to do with it.

To her surprise, Mark didn't resist the tiny space between them. He merely bent into her smell and tried to breath quietly as the two kids curled up in the middle. This was something they couldn't fight and for whatever else had happened, this would alway remain between them. The bits and pieces of comfort and love that they would forever owe one another.

_Why?_

There were so many possible answers to one question that connected and disconnected at different synapses. There was no simple word or thought that she could bring to light, no matter how mature her children were for their age.

"Sometimes, people grow apart and sometimes too, things need to be different. This will be a change but dad will always be your dad and I will always be your mom and we will always love you to bits and pieces, a lot more than you know."

"Always," Mark echoed, kissing them each on the forehead. "If you're angry or sad, we understand but we want you guys to remember that."

Tula and Henry went quiet and nuzzled further into the corners of their parents elbows and hips. It reminded Blair of so many afternoons they would spend in exactly this way. The twins had been three years old then and just as rambunctious but there were always the silent hours when they would find their parents and bring them together.

And in that second she believed that her children had brought her to someone that she would always need in her life. Mark had been a man who could have easily slipped through the cracks and for all that it was worth, she was full to the edges with happiness that he had been her best friend all these years.

It struck her without a sound, the sadness of it all. They had finally separated but not without grief and misery and still, not without the joy and love. The four were always equal in length and measure. She had so much of her own explaining to do and she would never make it up to anyone but in the desolation of one relationship, she could only hope for the strengths of a new perspective.

In a square room on a rainy day, Blair and Mark Hutlen explained themselves to their children and began the long and dusty journey to a new kind of co-operation that seemed calmer somehow as the kids fell asleep in both of their arms.

She didn't know how to follow the idea of a woman undefined but she had done it before and would surely do it again. All in time.


	23. Hooks i

A/N: Thanks for all the support guys, I didn't really know how missed I was! And the reviews were lovely and amazing and lovely some more. I'm tired though so this chapter is short (Again) and I'm just going to straight up answer the most common private PM I've been getting, which is: _Why did I leave and why did I come back ..._

Well, I left because I don't really watch the show anymore. Although I like Dair in theory, seeing it in practice was too weird for me. I will always be Chair at heart. Secondly, I came back because I missed this story and the characters.

This chapter is continuous and switches itself up without warning and is part 1 of 2. _He_ = C and _She_ = B

PS. I don't know who is into the IT crowd but it's one of my favorite things ever and I just saw submarine today, and it was really good and I love richard ayoade and ah! (completely unrelated)

I am officially talking to myself in an A/N. _Awkward._

P.P.S: The lyrics are actually a song from someone who is is a friend of a friend of mine. He's good and the song was stuck in my head all day long so I'm going to be nice and promote him. h t t p:/w w w.s u p l o a d.c o m/ l i s t e n ? s= 6 s h k N U if you're interested. (Remove spaces)

Can I get an amen? AMEN. Okay, that was enough babble for a lifetime. Go. Read. Review if you could C:

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_Under your command_  
_I'll break my own good hand_  
_Until I'm coming out_  
_I'm running down_  
_Side to side_  
_Shakin' out_  
_all of your hooks_  
_All of those hooks _  
_And your smile isn't mine to adore_  
_Because the looks have changed_  
_to match the way_  
_that your hooks pulled me_  
_out from my dreams  
With our feet tangled up in the sheets_  
_Until you forced me to sleep  
You still got hooks that are hooked in me_  
_ - S. T _

**Chapter Twenty-Three:**

Chuck brushed a hand to his cheek and held it there.

"I get in at four o'clock in the afternoon."

She let out a breath and the silence seemed to hang between them on a string, thin and useless.

He felt as though every word was an outstretched hand, empty and waiting. "Blair?"

"I just -" She paused, "You will be there, won't you?"

"I'll see you tomorrow," He said. Nothing would keep him away.

"Tomorrow then," and then the line went dead.

He put the phone down, closed his eyes and imagined his entire body was made of stone. Nothing could break him and nothing would. Not this time.

Blair pressed herself against her headboard and straightened out her bones. She felt something building up and breaking down inside of her and when she realized she was swelling with hope, she turned off the lights and shut her eyes against the darkness.

The flight from Paris was long and uneventful and the drive home- quiet. Once inside the apartment, he flung his jacket into the bedroom and climbed into the shower. There wasn't anything to think about, only things to remember and it all felt as though his reservations wanted to climb out from between his lungs and into the light.

He toweled off and dozed for a small while. When he woke, he changed and stood at the window, the city below was cupped in shadows. He himself was not much different. A line of thought between phrases. Nothing with much shape or texture.

He toweled off and fell asleep for a little while, dreamed of nothing. When he woke, he changed and stood at the window, watching the city below cupped in darkness.

She shifted her weight, clipped in her earrings and measured her wrinkles. She frowned, feeling the anxiety bite at her ankles. But deep inside, somewhere between her heart and her stomach, excitement was clawing at her organs and making room.

Tula and Henry were spending their fourth weekend at Mark's new apartment. And as she walked through the house, collecting things and putting them away, the emptiness and the silence seemed a little heavier.

He knew she was there before she sat down. He could smell her. The mixture of wildflowers and cucumber cream. He closed his eyes quickly, inhaled sharply and when he opened them again, she was mere inches away.

"Chuck ..."

He nodded, "Blair."

Her heart was pounding. She felt sick. She could barely hold herself there, keep her words lined up and neat. It happened so suddenly, a rush of exhilaration and fear and when he pulled her chair back for her, she felt almost as though she couldn't continue. Composure was difficult to grasp and even more difficult to hold. She was keeping so many things inside of her that she had begun to feel dusty and rife with age.

_The morning light spilled into the bedroom like butter across toast. She was poised over his naked body, tracing his scars and his freckles, the constellation of his body, her brown hair tickling his back._

_Finally, she lowered her lips to his ear. "Wake up, sleepyhead. The birds are out and singing."_

_He quirked one eye open, "Are they? Strange ... I can't hear a thing."_

_She walked her fingers down his shoulder, brushed her breast against his elbow and laughed. _

_"If we spend another day inside, I think someone somewhere might worry about us.." _

_"Let them," He growled, snaking his arm around her waist. _

_"Chuck!" She protested, "I hardly see you as it is!" _

_He lowered her naked body into his lap, pulled the hair away from her face. _

_"All the more reason ... wouldn't you agree, my love?" _

_"No, I do not." She pulled away from him then, stood up and stretched, unfurled._

_He pressed his lips to her neck, gingerly. "Don't be mad, I love you."_

_She turned to him, let his hands gather her up. "Chuck, what's something you don't like about me?"_

_There was silence, but only for a moment. "Something I don't like about you?"_

_"Yeah, I don't know. Maybe I snore too loudly or you don't like the way I chew on the ends of all the pens or maybe, I don't know, stuff."_

_"I can't think of anything I don't love about you ..."_

_She pressed her eyebrows together, fit her chin into the crook of his shoulder blade. _

_"There has to be something ... even you do things that annoy me."_

_"Like what?"  
_

_"I don't know. When you're gone ... I feel like a little empty inside but only sometimes."_

_He pulled her away from him, looked her in the eyes. "You are not empty Blair, don't ever say that."_

_"I'm not," She pouted, "But my routines always get messed up. They are different you know and there is a life to be lived, whether you are here or not."_

_"I know," He whispered, feeling guilty, "And I'm sorry."_

_"Well if you're so sorry," She teased, "Then you better kiss me."_

_And he did._


	24. Hooks ii

A/N: Hello! Okay, I'm updating my profile so I mean business, I am back! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and I promise you that I will reply to each and every review for this chapter because you guys are very lovely and I'm very lucky to have such readers like you. This is shorter but it's meant as a bridge, something to show you how things are changing.

Let me know what you think please, my lovely people? You have stuck with me for so long #happy as a clam. If you guys are really eager for more, I might have another chapter in me for tonight #am eating nutella out of jar with spoon, please talk to me so I can feel not terrible about possibly posting two chapters in one night and indulging my chocolatey desires.

Tumblr: w w w . p o e t r y i s f l o u r i d e i n t h e b o n e s . t u m b l r . c o m (remove the spaces and check it ouuuut?)

* * *

_Comin' home from you, holding a basket of proof_  
_Flowers I pressed in your books_  
_Sentiments, together we were crooks_  
_I hid them around our shack_  
_in places I can't remember anymore_  
_It's all I hear, it's all I ever hear from you dear anymore_  
_the ghostly song I once adored_  
_Now, I don't have to see _  
_your inking eyes shed tears that bleed_  
_the screaming silence that you agreed to_  
_Your threadbare body in the night_  
_I'm trying to remember all the spots in the air where I hid it_  
_It's come back, you wrote it on a napkin_  
_said you didn't want a hand in marriage_  
_I press your eyelids shut, I want to hear your loving stories,_  
_summer sparkles, religious glory and now I've got _  
_clear, it was a great big yellow dandelion_  
_I pressed it in your favorite spine_  
_right next to kerouac, between the lines_  
_of salinger and that cohen rhyme_  
_I just want those flowers back, _  
_some of the scent they gave and some of the rent they paid  
some of the scent they gave and some of the rent we paid_  
_one less family grave_  
_ - S.T_

**Chapter Twenty-four:**

He felt like he was sinking and she felt like she might throw up.

It was the tiniest rattle of silence that crept up their elbows with sticky touches and awkward glances.

They were sitting across from one another, once powerful and now simply swimming along and trying to match words to feelings.

Blair ran her finger around her martini glass. She took a breath.

They had seen each other several times in the last couple of months. It was becoming nothing to be nervous about and yet she felt the same twinge of anxiety bubbling in her stomach.

"So, what did you do on Thursday?" She asked.

Chuck leaned back in his chair and wet his lips with scotch.

"We went to the zoo," He said, "Ate ice cream and fed the ducks in the park."

The children had shown her photographs. Chuck and Tula, arms around her shoulders, her chin pressed into his shirt as they stood next to the Gorilla exhibit, a little off kilter, as if a certain young boy had pressed the flash. Another of Henry licking at his ice cream, smiling broadly as if the whole world lived and died in that one day as he held his fathers hand with pride.

"It looked like fun," She smiled, "I'm glad you take them on these little adventures."

He smirked, unsure of what to say. "Me too."

Chuck had slowly but steadily begun to take on a role in their lives. Now, he picked them up after school three days a week and drove them to their respective classes. On Mondays and Wednesdays, the children spent the whole day with him. Alone. They were building up the bond, that instantaneous spark of shared DNA. And quickly, the three of them had become the best of friends.

The adults involved had not originally thought it would be as easy as it was.

Mark had his reservations, Chuck had tucked his parental rights in clenched fists and Blair had only her nerves and the idea of things eventually working themselves out.

But it had all only taken some time.

"How's work?" Chuck coughed, grappling for conversation.

Blair was beginning to ease a little into her own body.

"It's good," She nodded, "Eleanor seems to be the pretty face, I'm the blood and sweat."

"As per usual," He leaned forward, enough for a lick of his cologne to tickle her senses.

"Oh well, it's fun ..." She looked him over and lowered her eyes. "What about you?"

"I'm dealing with a huge merger right now," He rolled his eyes. "It wouldn't be as difficult if ninety percent of my staff weren't so incompetent."

"As per usual..." She mimicked him playfully, raising an eyebrow.

The night passed easily in a cloud of simple conversation that lacked depth or reach. Eventually, she settled her anxieties and he forgot his reasons.

He helped her into her coat as they left the restaurant. The drinks had made the floor a little light beneath her feet and the scotch, doing as it always did, left him a little less difficult.

And when he reached for her hand, Blair felt a piece of him opening up. He was something that she had lost, so close and yet so far, intermingled hands and tired thoughts that rested heavily on her eyelids.

As they walked, he knew he could never forgive her and something about this realization had so suddenly freed him. He had become something untouchable, a father to his children and they would always be connected, the tiny strings thick like gold.

He wanted to tell her that he had always known, always felt it but somehow but the words would not form and he left them alone and sitting cold, in the back of his mind.

Blair had always felt it, always known but she couldn't keep the words together any more than she could keep herself from melting at the touch of his fingers. She was left trying to remember where she'd hidden all her sentiments.


End file.
